A Woman's Wrath
by KeeperoftheNine
Summary: A tale of power, love, lust and loss concerning Cutler Beckett and a female captain in his fleet. Set post-AWE. First eight chapters written in 2007, recently resuscitated :D More chaps coming up. Rated M because it's better to be safe than sorry!
1. Chapter 1: A Captain's Grief

**My first _posted_ fanfiction, but not my first fanfiction. I am hoping this will be the first of many. This is just something I thought up one night. It's rated M for future chapters, which will contain sex scenes. The structure of my story is each chapter is 750 words long, and whilst being a continuous thread, they are in fact seperate. I have no beta, so any spelling mistakes etc are my own fault, although, I have edited it quite thoroughly. I welcome reviews (both negative and positive). Thanks **

A Captain's Grief

The fleet was silent. Every looking glass was attuned to the scene laid before them, every eye strained to see the destruction. The captain of the _Pennywise_, the second largest of the East India Company's ships, stood motionless. Beneath the low rimmed hat, chocolate eyes brimmed with uncontrolled tears. Flyaway black locks lay neatly tucked under a stiff powdered white wig; a tall, feminine form hidden beneath the layers of fine cloth.

"Sir! The_ Endeavour_, she's going down!"

No reply spilt from her trembling lips. Her crew watched in disbelief as the once proud ship erupted in fire. The air that had previously been permeated by thunderous cracks of cannon fire was now filled with the shrieks of splitting wood and screaming crewmen. A pungent aroma of burning wood, sail and flesh affronted their senses. All mouths were open as the two pirate ships disappeared in the opposite direction, leaving naught but smouldering rubble. Their sickening cheers joined the sound of destruction, only adding to the pain of those left behind.

Her first officer, Peterson, ran to her side, his piercing green gaze in the direction of the fleet, "Captain, the rest of the fleet are retreating…"

Red hot anger replaced the blood in her veins. Her reply emerged as naught but a venomous hiss, "do you wish to follow them?"

"We will follow your orders sir."

Removing her hat, she pierced his green eyes with her brown. If he was surprised by her tears, he did not show it. His expression radiated passivity. "There are survivors in that wreckage," she struggled after a while, "we should save as many as possible."

"Aye, aye, captain."

Peterson relayed her orders to the rest of the crew, who seemed genuinely happy to be helping. She knew why; since they had set out from England many months before, the _Endeavour_ and the _Pennywise_ had been like sister ships. The crews were close; many had family aboard the _Endeavour_.

The terrible smell increased as they neared, but this was nothing compared to the site. Bloody, unconscious men hung like rag dolls from floating debris. A few were struggling in open water, with nothing to hold onto. With sharp eyes she searched the wreckage for his body. She could not find it.

Handing the wheel to a training ensign, she slid down the stairs onto the deck, "Men, ready the boats. Gather as many survivors as you can."

Peterson rushed up beside her, his pale cheeks flushed, "we'll have to hurry. We just saw a couple go under."

She bit her lip, tasting the bitter tang of blood as teeth pierced flesh, "keep a look out for the pirates, Lieutenant. I'm going with the boats."

"Is that the best idea Captain?"

"Just look out for the pirates."

The boat felt insubstantial beneath her, the unfortunate worms of nervousness tortured her stomach. As each sailor was brought aboard, new hope dawned within her. A drenched man climbed into the boat before her, a man she recognised clearly.

"Mr Groves?"

"Cap'n Rochester," sputtered the man, tilting his head in recognition, "thankyou for coming back for us."

She nodded, "did-!"

Groves predicted the rest of her question, "Lord Beckett stayed aboard, Ma'am."

"Stayed aboard?" Bile rose in her throat.

"Aye…we abandoned, but he chose to stay."

Silence reigned. The mere look of sympathy in the man's blue eyes was bad enough. She had seen the explosion; no one could have survived that. Chose to stay…the words were painful enough. He had chosen to stay, to _die_; leaving her simply so he could regain some sort of farce redemption. Usually suppressed emotions welled within her; betrayal, grief, bitter sadness.

"I'm sorry ma'am."

She attempted a smile, but it shook on her face and was swiftly erased. Often, she had pondered what it would be like under this circumstance. One had to prepare themself; life at sea was a dangerous one. In her musings, she had imagined that her mind would be alive with grief that she would wail, screech and become an uncontrollable banshee. But reality was so much worse. She could not even cry; her tear ducts were as dry as a drought struck desert. Instead of physicality, she was merely left with a horrible dulling pain in her chest, a violent illness in her gut.

But then struck the determination…he _could still be alive_! Miracles could happen; she had certainly experienced that on this ill-fated Caribbean misadventure. She had to find him, even if he was dead.


	2. Chapter 2: The Prisoner

**Although I have only just posted part one, I thought I would put this one up as well. As I said in Chapter one, I have no beta, so all the editing is up to me! Please read/review!  
**

**Disclaimer: I probably should have mentioned in the last chapter that Lord Beckett, Groves, William Turner and other POTC characters do not belong to me (although, I would very much like to own Lord Cutler Beckett). The OFC, and crewmen of the Pennywise however are all mine! **  


The Prisoner

The smell was genuinely repulsive. His head thudded dully, sending reverberating shocks of pain throughout his entire system. Reluctantly, his eyes opened. The intense blue was immediately dulled by the sight of his cell. He knew where he was.

"Familiar?"

Side splitting agony coursed through his veins as he sat up to stare at his captor. Harsh bars of iron fragmented his view of the handsome captain. William Turner pointed toward a gaseous pile of rotting sea creatures, "I have been meaning to get one of the men to clean that up" his face turned dark, a cruel smirk twisting his pleasant features, "but I thought you might like some company."

Choosing to ignore the last comment (and more especially the repugnant odour) the captive strained to his feet, noting with distaste the damage to his fine boots. He was glad that pirates rarely had mirrors aboard their vessels, no doubt he looked terrible. Determined to undermine the dirty pirate, even under his unfortunate circumstances, he spat, "Cannot even kill me properly, _Captain _Turner? You really are a disgrace to the name of pirate."

"And you would know all about that, wouldn't you Beckett?"

"Lord, if you don't mind."

With lightening speed, Turner's hand shot through the bars. Strong fingers grabbed Beckett's collar, slamming him against the bars, "Aboard this ship, you are no lord."

Despite obvious danger, Beckett retorted with a smirk, "I think you'll find I am."

With an angry hiss, Turner flung the shorter man to the ground. Beckett groaned as he collided with the slimy floor, slick with rotting sea flesh and what he presumed was his own excrement…how long had he been unconscious?

"How long do you intend to keep me here?"

Turner shot him a venomous look, "for as long as it takes."

"Takes to do what?"

"Make you a viable member of the crew – not a pompous arrogant bastard. We need men, see, and we'll take them where we can."

"Me? A member of the Dutchman's Crew?" Despite himself, he uttered a harsh cough of laughter.

Turner spat on the floor, "tis either that or the locker – take your pick."

Frowning, Beckett scooped himself from the floor, "and how long would I have to stay aboard this ship – before I was set free, that is?"

"Who ever said anything about freedom?"

"Ah, I see." A sinking feeling enveloped him as he sat back down, "did you destroy all of my fleet?"

Turner, who was heading out of the brig shook his head, "they retreated, but for one…they came back for survivors."

"This ship, did it have a name?"

"The_Pennywise,_ I believe. You should thank me they did not suffer the same fate as you. Barbossa wanted to send them to the locker."

"Then I genuinely do thankyou for not destroying them." He paused for a moment, pondering the correct thing to say, "Though, through doing so, you have probably put yourself and every other damned pirate at great risk."

"Oh? How so?"

"The captain of that vessel, the _Pennywise_, will go to great lengths to rescue me."

Turner sneered, "And what makes you think that?"

"Have you ever been in love, Mr Turner?" Beckett knew the answer to this question already, but it seemed to be the best segway to his point.

Turner's facial expressions changed like the colours of a rainbow. First was sheer annoyance at being asked such an obvious question. Next, was comprehension, followed by confusion, followed by sheer amusement, "you're in _love_ with the captain of the _Pennywise_?"

"I assure you, it is not a one-sided affection."

"I should have known you would be that way inclined!" A harsh laugh escaped the captor's throat, "wait till Jack finds out!"

"Ah, I see. You believe the captain of the _Pennywise_ is a man, and therefore I must be of that nature. I assure you, Mr Turner, you are quite mistaken."

"You have a ship captained by a woman? Why do I find that so hard to believe?"

"You should know as well as I that women are a stubborn bunch, Mr Turner. You should also know that a woman scorned is more dangerous than a thousand Krakens."

"So you seriously believe this woman will save you?"

Heedlessly attempting to clean his boots of some of their caking of filth, Beckett replied, "Save me? No! She will no doubt consider me dead. She will, however, desire vengeance for my death. You should consider that in your calculations, Captain Turner."


	3. Chapter 3: The Defiant Woman

**Part three is finally up. Thanks to anyone who read. Please feel free to leave some constructive criticism, or review. I am welcome to suggestions (and/or compliments :D). Any spelling mistakes, etc are entirely my fault and I apologise. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any POTC characters, which is lucky for them. **

The Defiant Woman

The figure was bathed in the soft golden light of dusk. A wily smirk smeared his features as he admired the way her femininity was hidden beneath the shawls of uniform. He pondered how anyone be deceived by her straight posture and defiant expression. In a practised swoop, her hat left her head, the immaculate white wig beneath glimmering.

"You called me here sir."

"Yes indeed, please sit Captain Rochester."

Putting her puzzled expression aside, she fell elegantly into the carved chair opposite him. A menacing silence filled the room as he poured them both generous glasses of whiskey. His was gone within seconds, hers lingered a fraction longer.

"Captain_ Marcus_ Rochester," his smirk widened, "tell me, what is your real name?"

"You just said it, sir." Nevertheless, her features paled.

"You cannot seriously expect me to believe you are a _man_, Miss Rochester – presuming Rochester is your real name."

"Yes, sir, Rochester is my real name."

"So, does your crew know of your sex, Miss Rochester?"

"Captain, if you don't mind sir," her expression was stern; chocolate brown eyes boring into his, "and yes, my crew is well aware of my sex."

"I am curious as to how you managed to hoodwink yourself into the service. I personally will not have a woman captaining a vessel in my fleet."

"With all due respect _sir_!" she snarled, "I am just as good, if not _better_, than the male captains in the Company! My sex has nothing to do with it!"

"So you admit to lying about your sex?"

"If I am good enough for the Company, sir, I am good enough for you!"

White hot fury emulated from her. Despite himself, he smiled. He loved a defiant woman. "Quite the contrary, I assure you, _Captain._ You see, I was brought up the proper way. A woman's place is not aboard a ship."

"Oh, so what are we meant to do?" she did not even bother to keep her voice down, "women are just as capable as men, Lord Beckett! Not all of us want to be imprisoned as wives, mothers and whores!"

"Why ever not?"

Savagely, she got to her feet, a fiery glint in her eye, "I beg permission to leave, sir! I am needed aboard the _Pennywise_."

"You won't be her captain for long, Miss Rochester," he hissed, watching her sweep to the door. She spun on her feet aggressively to face him.

"I am the best damned captain the _Pennywise_ can hope for. My crew trust me, the _Company_ trusts me…and if you can not trust me, Lord Beckett, then perhaps it is you who should not be here – not me."

The door slammed shut with a deafening thud. Beckett smiled, "Ah, yes, I like her Mr Mercer, I like her a lot."

A man emerged from the shadows, his eyes as black as his clothing. His weather worn face and height encouraged an aura of fear. This was _not_ a man to cross. "She is endearing sir, I can admit that." His soft Irish accent was nearly as menacing as his demeanour. "But not really your type is she?"

"A man needs a change, every now and again, Mr Mercer. You should know all about that! This should be quite the challenge."

ooo

Her men watched with apprehension as she took up her place behind the wheel. A snarl disfigured her usually pleasant features.

"How was Lord Beckett, Captain?" She turned to find Peterson, his worn features expressing concern.

Uncontrolled, her words bubbled up like magma, "That man is the most arrogant, self righteous, sexist, unfair, unappreciative, small-minded bastard I have ever met! The mere thought of following his orders makes me feel sick!"

"The meeting did not go well then?"

"Well, let's put it this way," she snarled, "if he has his way, you'll have a new captain by the end of the night!"

Before Peterson could reply, a short stubbly crewman named Frederick cried out, "Captain, we have a visitor!"

Sliding her gaze to the deck, she noted Beckett's tall, wraithlike assistant Mercer.

As he spoke, his menacing hiss sent shivers down her spine, "Madam Captain. Lord Beckett expresses an invitation to dine with him this evening."

"And why would Lord Beckett do that?" she replied haughtily, "to warm me up before he destroys my career and my life?"

"He has a proposal for you, Ma'am." Swiftly, he lowered himself into the long boat, "Dinner will be at seven, Madam Captain…I suggest you arrive promptly."


	4. Chapter 4: The Proposition

**Please read/review**

**Disclaimer: same as previous **  


Lord Cutler Beckett's Proposition

Without the wig, her waterfall of raven hair fell in delicate curls around her endearing face. Dark eyes observed him with suspicion. Ruby lips curled around the crystal wine glass, tasting the fine liquid within. Her femininity remained veiled by her uniform. This amused him immensely.

"I am curious, Madam Captain, I know you are a woman, yet you still dress as a man when invited to dinner."

"Was I expected to wear a dress?" An ironic smile curled the enticing lips. "I'm afraid I do not consider dresses important cargo,_sir_."

He shared her smile, as though a contagious disease, "the uniform befits you."

A thin eyebrow rose. "You asked me here to listen to a proposal."

"All in good time, Madam Captain," he replied haughtily, "first we must eat. I'm afraid the fare is not great, but I'm sure you are used to it by now. After dinner, we shall talk about my proposal."

"I would rather hear the proposal now."

"Patience, my dear woman, is a trait your sex has yet to master."

"You are an extremely arrogant man, Lord Beckett. This is not an endearing trait."

He laughed coldly, "Arrogant though I may be, my arrogance will never equal yours, Madam Captain. I have never met anyone quite so sure of herself, and her abilities. Tell me, do the other chairmen of the Company really believe you are a man, or did you convince them using your feminine wiles?"

"Excuse me!" Outraged, she slammed her glass down on the table, "I may have deceived them into thinking I was male, but I would _never_ prostitute myself out for any reason! I have never been more insulted…"

"In your life? Predictable!" He scoffed. "Well at least this makes my proposition more likely to succeed." Before she could speak, he looked toward the door, "ah, our meals are ready. Splendid."

After dinner, he led her into his office. A glass of brandy was swiftly deposited in her hand. He smiled, before collapsing lazily in his high backed chair, "now for my proposal."

Cautiously, she sipped the amber liquid.

"Now can you imagine what a disaster it would be if the Company were to find out about your little _secret_?"

Paling, she sat.

"Clearly," he continued, "what if a certain Lord was to inform them that one of their finest captains was, in fact, a woman?"

"You wouldn't!"

"I would, Miss Rochester, unless you agree to my little proposal."

She glared at him angrily, "My crew know my _little secret_ and it does not concern them. What gives _you_ the right to tell the Company?"

"I have every right Miss Rochester! Does my position mean nothing to you?" He paused, "you're crew may know about your secret, but they too would lose their jobs and their livelihoods if I were to tell the Company, true?"

"Yes, along with half of your crew!"

"Easily replaced."

"You bastard!" she snarled, "How can you talk about our careers so loosely?"

"Very easily, Miss Rochester, and I will tell unless you agree."

"And what is this fantastic proposal of yours?"

"Well," he smirked widely, as though greatly enjoying himself. She had no doubt he was, but did not feel inclined to feed his hunger, "I am willing to _look past_ your little…problem…if you do one thing."

"And that is?"

His cool blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight. He leant over the desk, "It is a long journey to the Caribbean, Madam Captain, and I shall be a very lonely man…"

"No! NO!"

"Become my mistress and the Company will never know what lies beneath that uniform of yours." He smiled, "I believe you will enjoy it as much as I."

"I would rather _die_ than become your mistress!"

His features hardened, "then you have condemned yourself, and many other men to a lifetime of poverty. Think about that before you make up your mind."

"This is _blackmail_!"

"Indeed it is, but you see, as long as we are on this little _journey_, my word is law. Can you see your crewmates suffer just because you refuse to make this one little sacrifice?"

"Fine! FINE! I'll do it...just promise me you will never tell the Company!"

"You have my word." He paused. "If we are to become intimate, Madam Captain, I shall wish to know your name."

Her lip shook violently, "Abigail, sir, my name is Abigail."

"Ah, Abigail, a fitting name. You may leave, _Abigail_, I shall call for you when your services are required."


	5. Chapter 5: The Captors

**Disclaimer - I don't own anyone but Abigail! Please read/review! **

The Captors

The Flying Dutchman and Black Pearl cut the water side by side. Both crews were still with silence, either drowning in rum or aimlessly scrubbing the decks. Within Captain Turner's voluminous, gothic quarters, a heated debate was in full swing.

Notorious buccaneer Jack Sparrow swigged from an encrusted bottle of rum, one booted foot draped lazily over the table. "I've gotta say, young William, you have a lousy taste in crewmembers."

Less restrained was Hector Barbossa, slamming the table, sending Jack's foot vibrating, "Ye should have let him drown! He deserved the locker!"

"If I had led him go to the locker, he would have more chance of escape." Will sighed reasonably. "As part of my crew, he is eternally imprisoned."

"I'll not work with him, William," Bootstrap Bill Turner chided darkly, "He was bad enough when Davy Jones was alive. As part of the crew, he'll be unbearable."

Jack nodded in perpetual agreement, "what makes you think anyone would want to rescue him from the locker?"

"He told me he had a woman, someone who would get him back."

Jack laughed, "He would say that, self-obsessed prat. I doubt he's even slept with a whore, let alone a real woman!"

In the corner, Elizabeth Swann shifted uncomfortably, peering out of the eerily translucent glass. A strong hand on her shoulder nudged her from her wily thoughts. A small smile caressed her lips as William comforted her.

"I need as many men as I can," he said after a prolonged silence, "I lost half the Dutchman's crew after the ambush. He may not be much, but it is safer if Beckett remains aboard the Dutchman."

Barbossa scowled, his rough face acquiring a supernatural appearance, "he did not happen to mention who this damsel of his was, did he?"

"The captain of the _Pennywise_, the ship that came for survivors – it has a female captain."

"I knew we should have sunk her!"

"_None of us_ could have known about this!" The air was pierced with the defiant feminine voice of Elizabeth. She glared menacingly at Barbossa, "How were we to know that any Company ship would have a female captain, _or_ that she would have a relationship with Beckett?"

"It was a Company ship. We should have destroyed it on that basis alone."

Surprisingly, it was Jack who came to the rescue of Will at this moment. His smooth, rum-soaked voice caressed the air, "we're pirates, but that doesn't mean we mindlessly kill people. We set out to stop Beckett, and stop him we did."

ooo

Meanwhile, festering away in the Dutchman's brig, Lord Cutler Beckett, former director of the East India Company, was musing. The heavy stench affronted him on all levels. His once fine clothes were unrecognisable beneath their layer of pungent grime. Above him, the murmuring of raised voices stirred interest. They were talking about him, this he knew full well. Nevertheless, he was left to ponder as to what fate would bring him.

"Ah, Abigail, if only you could see me now."

His voice emerged as only a ghost, whispering slightly before evaporating. In his personal fermentation, he had forgotten her sweet voice. Her face appeared to him as only an incoherent blur, like a barely remembered dream. As he balled himself up, reduced his size against the wall, his mind wandered to what he could remember; her laugh, her smile - the intense look of satisfaction as she came hard and fast beneath him.

The nights they had spent, entangled, lost in each others arms. Forgotten had been the outside world; all that existed was their combined bodies, the ecstasy, the twin drumbeats of their hearts.

But everyday, these vivid memories became more and more smeared. Instead, they were replaced by harsh reality. The sword strokes of light that struck him through the Dutchman's craggy boards, the thick defecating smell and the dull ache of his bones.

Flashing, his sky blue eyes turned to the lingering white creature in the corner, the remains of his once fine wig. A filth ridden jacket lay near it, torn and burnt from explosion of the _Endeavour_. His life, everything he held dear, was now irrelevant. He was a captive; destined to spend eternity sailing the restless sea of his own madness. Control was beyond his grasp, order ceased to exist in this world of chaos. And on the horizon, achingly close yet still so far away, stood Abigail, her ghostly face smiling. The ever present word on her lips, "Cutler."


	6. Chapter 6: Those Won't Be Necessary

Well, I have not posted in many months - so to any readers, I apologise...this is a lovely sex scene - so enjoy - ha ha

"Those Won't Be Necessary"

Stars speckled a night's sky as black as her curls. He drank in the fresh air, a thin smile curving his lips as he considered upcoming events. In the distance, a glimmering light shone out upon the glassy ocean. As the hands of his little pocket watch slipped by, the golden light grew stronger, until a long boat and pale face could be seen accompanying it.

Like a silver ghost, she boarded, her sheer nudity glowing in the moonlight.

"I see you did as ordered." He smirked, his voice as light as a spring breeze. He noticed a bundle of clothing in her arms. _Defiant until the end_, he thought, deeply amused. Out loud, he hissed, "Those won't be necessary."

Her reply was almost unheard, "They will be if I am to leave tomorrow morning."

His boots clicked against the highly polished floorboards, the only sound on the unnaturally quiet ocean. Her skin tingled as a soft hand gently cupped a breast.

Lips brushed against her neck, "definitely a woman."

His hand abandoned the breast, exposing it once more to the elements, or lack thereof. With feather light caresses, the same hand travelled down her stomach, side-tracking at her hips, before resting finally on the centre between her legs.

All the while, she remained stiff as a soldier. Hands clasped behind her back, jaw stern, eyes looking forward.

"My dear," he chided, brushing his lips over her unresponsive ones, "you must react."

"I do not believe reacting was part of our agreement, Lord Beckett."

"Perhaps I should rephrase myself, you _will_ react."

With a stubborn push, he penetrated boundaries, sliding his finger deep within her. A guttural groan played in her throat, but she did not allow it to escape.

The finger, slick with her own body's betrayal of reason, began to caress her clitoris. The hands, so defiantly clutched behind her back, slid apart. Like a shield, it covered his, pushing it further and harder against her.

"That's right, Abigail, do not fight it." His voice dripped with venom, she shivered under its intensity, "don't think I did not notice your_curiosity_ in my office. You _wanted_ to know what it would be like."

A thin wail managed to escape her throat, climax drew closer. Before she could release herself to the incoming waves of intensity, however, he pulled away his hand.

"Come."

Furious at being robbed of her climax, she followed him into a dimly lit chamber, clearly his onboard cabin. Thick carpets adorned the floor, furnishings finer than anything she owned glittered in the dull lamp light. She slipped into shadow, watching him with wary eyes as prey does the predator.

He sucked her from his fingers, swiftly undoing his pants with the clean hand. His erection emerged, large, thick and pink from it's lair of cloth. She longingly thought of the bundle of clothes she had dropped on the deck. They might have protected her from this fate. Instead, she remained exposed to the danger. It stared at her; both repulsing her, yet enticing her. The air suddenly felt cool against her sheer nudity.

"I want you to sit on the table and spread your legs."

Her chocolate brown gaze pierced into his cold blue one. Reluctantly, she obeyed, the cool wooden surface of the table menacing against her bareness. Closing her eyes, she exposed her self too him, the fronds of coolness licking at her.

Soft lips pressed against hers, a darting tongue invaded her mouth. Rough hands enticed her legs into entangling his waist. The head of the magnificent erection was positioned, poised to take her.

A forceful grunt erupted from his lips as he imbedded within her his impressive eight inches. For what seemed an eternity, he took her roughly on the surface of his fine, oak table. Despite herself she moaned at his entrance, leading him, wanting to relish the sensation of being entirely full.

His teeth burrowed into her lip, drawing bitter blood, as he exploded within her. Her own orgasm was violent, erupting within her like a long dormant volcano. Disgust ignored, curiosity sparked, her need for him coursed through her veins. A seasoned shipman, she had been with a few men, here and there. Never, however, had she felt the intense fire brought within her by Lord Beckett.

The tinkling of glass alerted her to his pouring of drinks. The liquid burnt her throat, but revitalised her blurred senses.

Her voice emerged injured, "I need to get my clothes."


	7. Chapter 7: A Matter of Honour

**Two and a half years late - yet here it is, the next chapter of AWW. This, and the chapter that follows, was written at the same time as the previous 5 chapters, and as such, any future chapters may have a slightly different tone... two and a half years is quite a long time. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone but Abigail!**

A Matter of Honour

He looked like an animal; a depressed, decrepit one, but an animal none the less. His eyes, once sparkling pools had turned dull. A dense shrub of unkempt beard had sprung across his now gaunt, lifeless face.

Captain Turner peered through the bars, as a spectator would at a zoo. His dark eyes glinted for a moment in sympathy, before the handsome features turned sharp, "This has gone on long enough Beckett, you are to become part of the crew."

A wheezing cough (or was it a laugh?) escaped the throat of the prisoner. "And why would you want that, Captain Turner?"

"Because," Turner replied slowly, "the stench of the brig is starting to spread onto the other decks. The crew and I agree that you should become an active member of the crew – or we'll hand you over to Barbossa."

"Forgive me if I am unable to distinguish what choice is worse."

A clang signified the opening of cell. A spade, mop and bucket were hastily thrown at his feet. "You're first job, Beckett, is to clean out this cell." He yanked the prisoner to his feet, handing him the spade, "you'll collect your filth in the bucket; take it up to the deck and dispose of it thoughtfully. When that's done, you'll mop the place out, savvy?"

"Dispose of thoughtfully, I presume you mean throwing over the side?" His smirk was almost hidden beneath the unflattering beard, "what's to stop me jumping?"

"You'll be watched by every member of my crew, my self included. When the job is done, you'll be able to clean yourself up."

Beckett growled angrily, "well, I'll see you in about a week then."

"Not to comfortable with manual labour, are you _my lord_?"

Once again, the harsh laugh escaped Beckett's lips. "Oh, I'm particularly comfortable with manual labour. Just ask your dear wife about that."

Turners face turned dark. His fist yearned to collide with the shorter man's arrogant, if not dirty face. Yet, with every fibre of control, he stopped himself. "Just clean it up."

With a hearty swagger, he departed the brig.

ooo

It did not take long to fill the first bucket. A delightful concoction of decay, it contained all the ingredients that Beckett usually tried to avoid. With weak arms, he heaved it up the stairs onto the deck. The sunlight assaulted him, blinding him and rendering him useless until he remembered how to survive. When finally, his eyes could absorb all, he noticed the _Dutchman's_ crew sneering at him.

A particularly harsh looking fellow smiled menacingly, his blackened teeth standing like harsh mountains in the rotten gum. "Not so high and mighty are we now, eh Beckett?"

Beckett ignored, heaving his burden to the side of the ship. With a disgusted grimace, he threw the contents over, watching it stain the pure ocean beneath. He almost felt apologetic.

"Back to work, you lazy cad!" snarled a crackled voice from behind him. A menacing looking pirate brandishing a whip stood but a metre away. Beckett uttered a useless sigh, before immersing himself once again into dark cavern of the brig.

ooo

The sun had nearly disappeared behind its flat horizon when he threw the last bucketful over. He did not know how long he had laboured, but his bones ached and his hands were numb. Breathing heavily, he rested against the railing, bathing himself in the golden light of dusk.

"I have been uncommonly kind to you, you know."

Beckett did not bother turning, he knew who spoke. A smile curled his lips. "How so?"

"As I said, everyone else wanted you dead. I gave you another chance at life. You would not be enjoying this sunset if it weren't for me."

"Oh, I'm awfully grateful." Beckett found it difficult to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Sorry if a future of piracy does not spark my enthusiasm."

"The Dutchman is not a ship of pirates," replied Turner, "you know that full well. To some, our job could even be considered honourable."

"Oh yes, terrible honourable. So honourable, in fact, that Davy Jones broke his dear old promise and wreaked havoc over the seas. Yes, I have a life of honour aboard this ship."

"I do not intend to make the same mistake Jones did, Lord Beckett. Stick with me, and you might regain some of your honour."

Beckett laughed bitterly. "Mr Turner, I was a chairman of the East India Trading Company. I never had any honour to begin with."


	8. Chapter 8: Leadenhall Street

Leadenhall Street

It had been but a few months, but Captain Abigail Rochester felt as though Cutler had been dead for months. She squirmed in the unnaturally hard wooden chair, looking with penultimate fear at the board of the directors. Each had a face like marble, emotionless, cold. Their eyes lacked sparkle; their lips never seemed to move but to speak in hushed, icy voices. She tried to imagine Cutler sitting amongst then monoliths of stone, but it was impossible.

The shortest, fattest and coldest of the directors spoke, his voice frozen. "Captain Rochester, what you propose is absurd. The East India Company is a profit organisation; we cannot waste resources on revenge."

"With all due respect sir," Abigail felt anything but respect, but she knew civility was the only way to get what she desired, "By order of the King, Lord Beckett was commissioned to the West Indies to destroy piracy and strengthen the trade networks. What I propose will allow the continuation of his work."

"Lord Beckett failed. We sent him to the West Indies to destroy piracy; instead, all we got was a sunken flagship and many East Indiamen dead. We have decided, and the king has agreed, that the golden age of piracy is over. We do not need to destroy more ships, or sacrifice more lives for the sake of its destruction."

"You care not about ships or lives, sir! Just because there is no profit in it, it does not mean that it is not a noble course! I will not stand by and let the murderers of Cutler Beckett sail free!"

"Captain, you are out of line."

Dark eyes piercing, Abigail stared at the elderly man, her face disfigured in a snarl, "If the Company will not back me, I resign my commission."

"Do not be foolish."

"It would be foolish for me to stay." She bowed mockingly, removing her hat and wig strategically. The men frowned as her raven curls caressed her features, "Good day sirs."

ooo

She emerged onto a cornucopia of activity. Leadenhall Street bustled with life, carriages, horses, men, women, the grand houses (but none as grand as the East India House). As a child she had loved this place, now she saw it only as the house of greed.

"Captain Rochester, what was the verdict?"

"You need not call me Captain anymore Peterson, I've resigned my commission."

Peterson's expression dimmed, "they said no then."

"Of course they did, they're a bunch of old dinosaurs." She sighed, running her fingers through her thick main of hair, "doesn't mean I'm not going back."

"You're going to buy a ship?"

"Lord no, I cannot afford that!" She smiled wistfully, "I am going to fight fire with fire, Peterson. All I need is a crew."

"You're going to steal a ship?"

"Borrow, a ship. I'm no pirate."

"Borrow or steal, Ma'am, it makes no difference."

Her lips curled, "Mr Peterson, if you really were a company man, you'd have arrested me where I stand."

His face darkened, "I think its madness, but I want vengeance for the loss of friends."

"Do you think the rest of the men will see the same?"

Side by side they walked down the street, breathing in the heavy scent of London. "I don't know about all of them, Ma'am," Peterson replied after a pause, "but I reckon we'll get enough from the _Endeavour_ and the _Pennywise_ to make a crew."

"I was hoping you would say that."

"What ship were you hoping to borrow?"

"The _Pennywise_, of course."

ooo

She stared each man in the eye, but could see no deceit in their eyes. Pain and hardship had led them, like her, to abandon the Company and become outcasts. The same hardship drew them back into the firing line, back toward that which had caused their very suffering. Cool blankets of rain caressed them, the _Pennywise_ rocked slightly on the uneasy sea.

"I thankyou all for coming here," she began, "you have sacrificed much." There were more than she had expected, almost all of the _Pennywise _crew, and every survivor from the _Endeavour_. "Everyone here lost someone when the pirates destroyed the _Endeavour_. Some of you lost brothers, cousins, even fathers and sons. Others lost friends. I lost the man I love. The Company will have us forget them, but this cannot happen. We will have justice for the loss of our loved ones."

The crew murmured their assent. It seemed even as if the _Pennywise_ agreed.

It had begun.


	9. Chapter 9: A Pirate Named Eddie

**Well, I'm back. Thanks to those of you who have reviewed or favourite-d this story since my last publication. Life has been a hectic mess lately (I'm pretty sure most people here can relate) and as such I haven't been writing nearly as much as I would like. My goal though is to write a minimum of one chapter of this a week (preferably more), so that it can be finished before too long. I have been re-inspired by the release of POTC4, despite the fact that that movie has a noticeable lack of our short sexy Lord. Nevertheless, it had a few interesting drawcards which may help me wrench myself from writers block.**

**Well, this isn't much of a chapter, but I really wanted to introduce Eddie. He's fun :) **

**9. A Pirate Named Eddie**

Collecting the souls of the dead was a generally macabre business. It required a certain amount of patience. Those being dragged to the next life were usually disconcerted, fearful and resistant. Cutler learned very quickly that spirits were not the weak little wisps of smoke he had heard about in youth-bound ghost stories. They were strong, fairly violent and after a month as a functioning member of Turner's crew, he had his fair share of scars from the job. On the outside, he was barely recognisable. His ivory toned skin had fallen victim to the sun, first turning a delightful shade of lobster red, before converting to a rather pleasant tan. Any plumpness that had softened his body had long since dissipated as the everyday labour of the ship toned his muscles.

Though he was hard working and seemingly complacent with his lot, the once Lord spent every available second plotting to escape the _Dutchman_. As his servitude continued, he cared less for his position and wealth. His yearning to escape had more to do with the slip of a woman who had captured his heart. It was useless though, a truth that had been unceremoniously pointed out to him in his first week of work.

It had been after his third, unsuccessful, escape attempt. He knew a lit barrel of gunpowder would cause havoc on the ship, probably destroying it, but he had not taken into account the _Dutchman's_ ability to submerge. He had found himself thrown back in his cell, only this time, he had company.

"Escape's useless mate, tried that plenty of times when I first started out."

His cellmate's voice had the rustiness of a man who partook in a few too many drinks. In the pale light filtering through planking, Cutler saw that he had long blonde dreadlocks, a goatee consisting of two long strips of blonde hair beginning on either side of his mouth and tied together just under his chin. The man had a wicked smile, made more terrifying by sharpened teeth and gold replacements. He reasoned it was probably safer to ignore this man.

"Ignore me all you like, mate. We're going to be stuck in here a good time if the captain's ire is anything to go by. Probably wise."

Cutler cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"You want to know why I'm sharing your stinking cell? Stabbed a bloke in the hand."

"Why?"

"Because I could. Didn't hurt him. We're already dead."

Cutler frowned. "That will not stop me trying to escape."

The man laughed. "They told me about you. Wealthy bloke it seems. I bet you want to be reacquainted with all that gold."

"It would have already been distributed to my family. My motivation for escape is far more personal."

"A lady friend then?" the man winked. "Wife, girlfriend, bit on the side?"

"That is none of your business."

"You're going to be stuck on the Dutchman for a long time, mate. Soon it's going to be everyone's business. Did this broad have a name?"

Cutler's eyebrow rose. "What do you think?"

"Helpful mate. Care to elaborate."

"Why do you care so much, you would not have heard of her."

The blonde man smiled. "You'd be surprised, I know a lot of lady-folk."

Anger trickled through Cutler's veins. "I seriously doubt Abigail was one of your conquests, _sir_."

"Abigail? As in Captain Abigail Rochester of the _Pennywise_."

Cutler's interest perked. "You have heard of her? How?"

"You don't take much notice of your surroundings, do ye mate? Half the new recruits talk of Abigail Rochester; apparently she's started a bit of a pirate killing spree."

"Do they say why?"

His cellmate drew a deep breath. "Some folks say vengeance, other's say spite. After meeting you, I'm leanin' toward the former. Wasting her time, in my opinion."

"What do you mean?"

"There's no way to save a man from Jones' curse. You can't even escape by death. The only way you're getting off this boat is through good service."

"That seems to be going well for you." Cutler's response was accompanied by a short laugh by the blonde haired pirate. "How long have you been in here?"

"Seventy-five years, give or take," shrugged the man. "Before Turner took the helm, I was startin' to become part of the ship. I suppose that's one good thing about the whelp." Suddenly the pirate held out his hand. "The name's Eddie, by the way."

Cutler nodded. "Beckett, Cutler Beckett."


	10. Chapter 10: A Sack of Ships

**A/N: Ah yes, I'm back again and thoroughly determined to finish this fanfic. I do not want it to be pushed into that terrifying abyss of abandoned fics, and so I intend to write a new chapter every day or second day until it is done. Recently I planned it all out, and as such I have a pretty clear idea of where it will be going. **

**I do not usually like to ask this, but if you are reading my work could you please throw me a quick review (critical or complimentary, I don't mind). I need people to send me a virtual slap and get me to work, otherwise this story will be forgotten about once again (and I don't feel Cutler and Abigail deserve such an untimely fate).**

**I have not yet read Ann Crispin's "The Price of Freedom", and will finish this fic before doing so. That way I can plead ignorance if anything I write about Cutler does not adhere to the canon. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Cutler, Pirates of the Caribbean, Jack Sparrow or a huge sack of ships. I do, however, own Abigail (poor lass)**

10. A sack of ships

It had originally been a rum bottle, a particularly scratched and grimy one to be sure, but nothing more than a container in which to carry cheap liquor. It seemed a strange prison for the tiny ship, tackling its way through a turbulent supernatural sea. Abigail Rochester's nose almost touched the glass as she observed the miniature Endeavour dancing through the waves, its white sails flapping with an onslaught of rain drenched wind. Hope encompassed her. If the _Endeavour _survived, perhaps Cutler did too? It seemed almost unthinkable, but after months of relentless conflict, Abigail found the thought rather comforting.

"Captain, the pirate is asking to speak with you."

Abigail glanced from the bottle, brown eyes meeting emerald. Giacomo Peterson was a very different man to the naive young officer she had met years before. Their pursuit of revenge had lent him a hard edge, helped along by the shade of dark stubble that covered his jaw. "He can wait," Abigail dismissed, waving a hand absentmindedly. "Tell me, Jack, have I become a monster?"

"A monster Captain?"

Abigail shot another glance toward the bottle. "Sometimes I wonder."

"You are continuing Lord Beckett's work, Captain. Nothing shameful about that."

A rare smile curled Abigail's lips. "The problem is, I never agreed with what Cutler was doing in the first place. I think perhaps I have become worse than the men I am killing." Sighing, she placed the bottle back upon the table. "Bring Sparrow to me."

Peterson nodded, leaving the room in a swish of blue coat. Abigail rose from the uncomfortable wooden chair, traversing the room toward a black-spotted mirror. Like Peterson, the journey had taken its toll upon her appearance. She no longer wore the powdered wig, her ebony curls wild about her face. The sun had kissed her complexion to a light gold. Footsteps and the clanking of chains drew her attention to the matter at hand. She turned slowly from the mirror, taking in the visage of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. True to the legend, he was devilishly handsome, in a rum-soaked unwashed kind of way. His clothing looked as if it was as much a part of him as flesh and bone, while the eclectic array of artefacts weaved into his hair hinted at his many adventures. The man smile was wide, hiding apprehension, and he looked quite at home in the irons clapped around his wrists.

"Captain Abby Rochester, I presume." His voice was just as rum-soaked and handsome as his person.

"Captain Rochester, if you please," she replied coldly, gesturing to a hard chair on the opposite end of her desk. "I have heard much about you, Jack Sparrow."

Sparrow flopped into the proffered chair. "Captain, if you please."

"Captain? It was my understanding you needed a ship to be a captain, Mr Sparrow."

"I have one, it's in that sack," the pirate pointed to the large sack beside Abigail's desk. "I see you've found one to your fancy. Unfortunately, your beloved Lord Beckett is not aboard."

Abigail cocked an eyebrow. "How would you know that?"

"For Lord Beckett to be in that bottle, he would have had to have fallen with his ship. Our little lordling has instead been nabbed by another."

She felt her jaw tense with infuriation, and regardless of his unwashed status, leant closer to the pirate until their noses were near touching. "What do you mean, Sparrow?"

"Dropped the mister?" The pirate's smile widened, revealing half a dozen glistening gold teeth. "You know what, Abby, you're actually quite a-"

"EXPLAIN!"

"Your little Cuttlefish is currently serving out a hundred years aboard the ship of a mutual friend, Captain William Turner."

"Cutler is aboard the _Dutchman_?" Abigail felt the breath hitch in her throat. Cutler was still out there, still _breathing_. Perhaps...?

"There's no escape from the _Dutchman_, love, and with the amount of new recruits you've been bombarding Willy boy with, I doubt he'll be willing to give him up."

Abigail ignored him, possibilities playing about in her mind. "Have you any way to contact the _Dutchman_?"

"If I did, why would I help you? You've got quite a reputation, Abby, how do I know I won't find myself dead?"

"I will give you my word."

"Words mean nothing," Jack sneered. "The contents of that sack on the other hand..."

Abigail sent a furtive glance toward the sack of ships. "I keep the _Endeavour, _but you can take the rest. Just tell me how to contact Will Turner."


	11. Chapter 11: Making Port

**A new chapter, because I can. I have no beta, and I'm finishing this story as quickly as possible, so there is a very high probability that it is brimming with spelling errors. I apologise.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. If Pirates of the Caribbean was property, I'd be living in a cardboard box in the slums. However, I have been allowed to borrow the characters temporarily... thanks Disney!**

**11.****Making****Port**

Captain William Turner glanced warily upon the sparkling surface of Tortuga's lagoon. He knew full well how disconcerting the presence of the _Dutchman_ was for those who occupied the small, unruly port. The hubbub of activity died down, the noise emulating from the docks quieting to a mere buzz. Apart from his own inability to step on land, he loathed venturing to Tortuga because of the fear it instilled. Still, his crew had a hunger for rum that could not be sated by the few barrels they salvaged. Making port was an unfortunate necessity.

At first he had been reluctant to allow Beckett access to the pirate port. Should he be recognised, there were no limits to the ramifications. But the Beckett who lowered himself into the rocking long boat was hardly the man people remembered. His dark locks were long and unruly, his face sun-kissed and weather worn. The only evidence of his past was the long tan frock coat he had favoured as a lord, but even this had fallen victim to many months on the _Dutchman_. No, it was quite safe to let the man go.

Down on the boats, Cutler was well aware of Turner's scrutiny. In fact, he was rather surprised that the man had conceded to his request to join the away party. His desire to leave the _Dutchman_, albeit temporarily, had little to do with rum or with a deep-seated desire to escape. He was far more interested in the rumour mill. Useful though the new recruits were in deriving new information about Abigail's antics, Cutler wanted fresh news. Tortuga, with its many tiny pubs, streets and whore houses was a brimming knowledge bank, begging to be tapped.

"Ever been to Tortuga, Cutty?"

Eddie's harsh brogue cut through his contemplation like a knife. The blonde pirate was transfixed by the sea of flickering lights that covered the hillside of the tiny island. He had spent days filling Cutler's ears with tales of rum, dog-fighting and how he was going to spend half his gold on acquiring a plump young whore for the night. This seemed to be a sentiment shared by most of the crew.

"Sure you won't join us, mate?" Eddie smirked, as they pulled their boat up onto the shore. "Madame Zena's is the finest establishment on Tortuga. Bound to find a girl to yer liking."

Cutler cocked an eyebrow. "I seriously doubt it."

Eddie's expression turned cautionary. "Sounded like a little lordie then mate. Migh' want to work on tha'. Remember what the Capt'n said."

Cutler followed the rest of the _Dutchman_'s crew through the crowded township, avoiding the heavy lidded gaze of the prostitutes that crowded the streets. It was a cacophony of activity. Women's screams (of pleasure and pain) and drunken yells permeated the air. The stench of human waste, sweat, fish and alcohol was almost suffocating. In the past, Cutler may have held a silk handkerchief over his mouth, but alas, he was no longer entitled his delicate sensibilities. Tortuga would eat him alive.

Leaving Eddie outside the infamous Madame Zena's, he made his way toward Tortuga's most prolific pub, a dingy joint called _The__Red__Dragon_. The place was thick with tobacco smoke and filled with the constant hum of drunken conversation. Pushing his way through several burly sailors four times his size, he finally made it to the bar.

Minutes later he cupped a tankard of rum in his fingers, listening to the din of conversation, attuned for a mention of his Abigail. It did not take long.

"Rumour 'as it tha' she's tall as a giant and a terror to behold."

Cutler turned to see a small table in the corner, at which three men were seated. The one who spoke was a grubby little creature with a straggly beard. He was accompanied by a hugely fat man wearing nothing but breaches, and a tall man with a ludicrous hat covering his features.

"Rubbish," bellowed the fat man. "She's a mermaid, mark my words."

"Mermaids don' exist, Rick," snapped straggly beard. "An' besides, they is supposed to be beau'iful. Rochester is a hag."

"I assure you mate," interjected the obscured man, his voice slightly muffled. "Captain Abby Rochester is not a hag, but she's not a mermaid either."

Straggly beard sniffed. "'Ave you seen 'er?"

The tall man nodded.

"Rubbish," Rick bellowed again. "No man sees Rochester and escapes alive."

The man lifted the ludicrous hat from his head, and it took every inch of self control for Cutler not to gasp. "I assure you mate, I'm not just any man."

"I knows who you are!" Straggly beard yipped. "You is Cap'n Jack Sparra."


	12. Chapter 12: In Search of William Turner

**Yep... so much for one chapter every day. RL and other muses have been snatching away my time. Thanks for those who have been reading my story (I discovered the wonders of "Traffic Stats" today). Do feel free to drop me a note every now and again... one of encouragement, or even some advice on how to improve my neglected little story. I assure you, this is going somewhere, and I am contemplating throwing in some tasty smut too. I sound so needy sometimes! Anyway, because my shift at work tomorrow requires me to be sitting in a house for most of the day "greeting tourists" (aka, writing fanfic), I will hopefully get chapter thirteen up then. Thanks.**

**AN: I don't own anything but Abigail, her crew, the Pennywise, oh, and a couple of miscreants sitting in a bar. **

12. In Search of William Turner

Jack allowed the two men their moment of surprise, taking shameless delight in the awe he still managed to strike within his fellow miscreants. Jack's entire persona depended upon the regular boosting of his extreme ego, and besides, it gave him ample time to observe the figure at the bar. He was almost unrecognisable, or would have been had Jack been as inebriated as the rest of the bar's clients, or unfamiliar with the man in question. Still, it always payed to make sure, and Jack was determined to ascertain the correct identity of the man before implementing his plan.

As such, he turned back to his seedy companions, shooting the voluminous Rick a quick smirk. "Indeed I am, mate."

Straggly beard grinned. "Whacha doin' back in Tortuga, Cap'n Jack? Rumour 'as it that Scarlett and Giselle have a price on yer 'ead!"

"Hence the disguise," Jack replied lazily. "I am here, my good gentlemen, to gather information about the whereabouts of William Turner."

"Are ye blind as well as famous, mate?" Rick chortled. "Will Turner and his 'alf-dead crew 'ave been docked 'ere the past few hours. The crew 'ave paid out all the decent girls."

Straggly rolled his eyes. "'s if you coul' even affor' one of those, Rick." He turned his beady little eyes back to Jack. "Wha' you wanting Will Turner for?"

"Just a chat, old times sake," replied Jack ambiguously. His plan had worked. The moment the word William Turner had left his lips, the familiar man at the bar had turned, looking Jack straight in the eye. There was no mistaking the twinkle in those periwinkle eyes, or the gentle tilt of those lips. A tan could not hide the aristocratic superiority complex of Lord Cutler Beckett. Jack patted Rick on his sweaty shoulder, winking at Straggly. "Thanks for the company, gents."

ooo

Cutler inwardly swore as he observed Jack Sparrow coming towards him. How could he be so foolish? Of course the pirate would recognise him. Still, there was a possibility that Jack would not divulge Cutler's true identity to the creatures in the bar, and the ample supply of gold in his pocket could be easily exchanged for victuals which would keep the pirate on his side.

"Hello Jack," he smiled as the rum-soaked pirate fell into the stool by his side. "Can I get you something?"

Jack waved his arms about in a noncommittal motion. "Rum if you please." Once the tumbler was safely in his fingers, the pirate soldiered on. "So Cuttlefish, what brings you to the sunny town of Tortuga?"

"Information, Mr Sparrow, which I believe you can provide."

"Ahhhh, about your little strumpet, eh?" Noting the hostility etched upon Cutler's face, the pirate changed tact. "Captain Abigail Rochester, quite a lady... a bloodthirsty one to be sure, but a lady none-the-less."

"Where did you see her?"

"She captured me, mate. Let me go if I promised to get her an audience with William Turner. Seems she wants you back."

"It is impossible, I have to do my service."

"One thing I've learnt in life, mate, nothing is impossible." Jack wrapped an unwelcome arm around Cutler's shoulders. "So what do you reckon is the possibility of me getting an audience with your boss, savvy?"

Cutler sighed, now sure he was not going to get an ounce of information out of the pirate. His only hope was that Turner would agree to a meeting with Abigail, and should that wondrous event take place, he would no doubt find himself incarcerated within the dank hull of the _Dutchman_.

ooo

Will Turner seemed oddly happy to lay eyes upon his old friend, a smile curling sun-swept lips. "Jack! What brings you here?"

The pirate bowed extravagantly, earning him an eye-rolling from Cutler. "I come with a proposition from a mutual acquaintance, Willy. I believe you have heard of Captain Abigail Rochester?"

"The pirate killer? What does she want with me?"

Jack shot a look at Cutler. "I think that's fairly obvious, mate. She wants a meeting."

The fleeting happiness on Will's face disappeared, to be replaced with the stern demeanour of command. "Where will this meeting take place?"

"The previous location of the Isle d'Muerta, one week from now. She'll stop attacking pirates during this time, and _he_ has to be present at the meeting."

Cutler felt a jab of fleeting hope. At least he would _see_her. His lips desperately wanted to tilt into a smile, but he knew this would only further anger Turner. The captain looked as though he could breathe fire.

"Fine!" he snapped. "But he is to be restrained."


	13. Chapter 13: Parley Part One

**Alas, I have been very slack. I find Cutler to be quite a slippery muse... sometimes he visits, sometimes he does not. Here it is, none the less. Hopefully my next update will be a touch quicker.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own ANYTHING! Yep.**

**13. Parley – Part One**

The island had once been a nest of sharp obsidian, the remnants of an ancient volcano jutting from the motherly depths of the ocean. Within its many catacombs and lava holes, eerie warmth could be felt churning up from the depths. The islands location on the continental shelf, and the jagged height of the sea cliffs had meant that Isle de la Muerta had generated its own weather patterns, perpetually swathed in a crown of dark, malicious clouds.

Now there was a vast expanse of clear, glistening ocean, broken irregularly by the occasional rocky outcrop. Water lapped languidly against the shards of dark stone, never hinting of the mounds of accumulated treasure buried deep within the turquoise depths.

It was a place that Cutler had never really intended to visit. Buried gold did not entice him, for he had plenty of it already and he preferred his treasure (unlike his women) easy to obtain. Other crew members muttered nonsense about a dreadful curse, but despite his previous supernatural experiences, Cutler was uninclined to believe such rubbish. Clapped in his shackles and leg irons, the ex-lord could not help but notice the beautiful melancholy of the location. No wonder his beloved Abigail had chosen it.

Will Turner remained as still as a sentinel, his dark brooding gaze observing the scene before them. They had been waiting for several hours before a flash of white sail was seen the horizon. The distant ship showed no flag, but there was no mistaking the sister ship to the _Endeavour_. It was a hull that brought fear into the hearts of pirates, far more so than the _Dutchman_ and its tame kraken had ever done. Cutler felt his heart beating an irregular tattoo against his ribcage, his periwinkle eyes twinkling with an ill-conceived shot of hope.

After what seemed a millennia of waiting, the _Pennywise_ drew up against the _Dutchman__'__s_port side. Cutler gaped at the visage of the crew. Though they were still garbed in the regalia of the East India Company, their clothing was corrupted by months at sea. Shirts were undone, jackets laden with holes and stained by the sea. The crew of the _Pennywise_ looked no better than pirates, wealthy pirates, but pirates none-the-less.

"Lord Beckett, sir!"

The sharp clip of Peterson's voice brought Cutler from his musing. It felt somewhat peculiar to be referred to as _lord_ in such surroundings.

Will's face darkened substantially. "I believe Abigail Rochester desires to parlay?"

Peterson brushed his hand across stubbled jaw. "Captain Rochester asks that you, Lord Beckett and the pirate Jack Sparrow come aboard the _Pennywise_."

"Yet she does not come out to greet us herself? No wonder the rumours surrounding your infamous captain are so varied, if she never leaves her quarters."

The more idiotic members of Will's crew chortled loudly. Cutler swallowed.

"There's no need to be unpleasant, Mr Turner," came a dark voice from the shadows of the _Pennywise__'__s_deck. The woman that emerged was tall and angular. Abigail had always been a stern captain, but the harshness of the woman before him truly shocked Cutler. Dark eyes brushed over the assembled crew of the _Dutchman_, finally falling on Cutler. In a moment, the harshness seemed to dissolve, a warm smile curling her lips. "Cutler, you have no idea how good it is to see you alive."

"Not exactly alive, my dear, but here."

"Here will do."

The eventual meeting place was wreathed with peculiarity. It was a relatively large shelf of stone, just big enough for two long boats to dock and several people to sit comfortably on it's cold surface. Will had insisted upon this place, stating that it was neutral. Unfortunately, he would be forced to spend his time standing in a bucket, a rather undignified situation.

"Captain Rochester, why did you wish to meet with me?" Will's words seemed rather stupid once they left his mouth. The reason was fairly obvious, albeit rather clouded with ambiguity.

"The reason is standing to your left, clapped in irons," the woman replied simply.

"Beckett cannot be freed until he has served the _Dutchman_ for a hundred years."

Abigail cocked a thin eyebrow. "Surely there are loopholes in that rule, Captain Turner. Special circumstances, say."

Will huffed impatiently. "And what special circumstances would you be talking about?"

"Well, for one, I will stop my attack on the pirate vessels, go back to England and behave like a proper woman," the final statement was said with a large smirk. Cutler could not help but chuckle slightly. Abigail continued. "You will not have to worry about me anymore."

"And why should I believe you?"

Abigail seemed to take a while to think on Will's words, though the answer was fairly straight forward. "I started this crusade to avenge Cutler's death, but here he is, standing at your side. My campaign seems a little redundant now."

"And those that have lost their lives?"

"Alas, I cannot return them."

Will's eyes became sharp. "Then why should I return Beckett to _you_?"


	14. Chapter 14: Parley Part Two

**Well... here it is. I have decided to boycott the original 750 word limit that I established at the beginning of this fic. It impedes my creativity. **

**A special thanks to Keggy Chaos and Lady Sybelle for your kind reviews. Your feedback has kept me going on this lovely little story. **

**As for smut, that is most certainly coming. ;)**

**A/N: POTC belongs to Disney, as does Cutler (nooooo), but I own Abigail, Peterson, the _Pennywise_ and a number of unruly pirates. A pretty good haul on all accounts. **

**14. Parlay Part Two**

The tea was delicious: a delectable brew of power and colonialism with just a hint of lemon. Without the usual invasion of sugar, it was tart upon his tongue, yet the once grand Lord lavished every last drop. It was only once he had finished his first cup, that he turned his attention back to his captain, the owner of these lonely, cavernous quarters.

"You failed to tell me that your mistress was so unreasonable."

William's words were delivered accompanied by a cock of his dark eyebrow. Cutler smirked, emboldened by the tea.

"Is that not a trait shared by all her sex?" His face turned serious. "Abigail is not unreasonable, she is merely stubborn. I took her as my mistress only weeks after leaving London, but it was not until we reached Port Royal that she showed any inclination of warmth."

"If you ask me," Jack Sparrow interjected, swigging his tea before gulping a large chaser of rum, "she's mad as a box of monkeys. Tell you what, why don't I sneak onto her ship, steal all the little boats, then you can drag her off to that lovely little locker of yours."

Cutler shot the pirate a venomous glare, refilling his tea. "Unfortunately, the locker is not a fool proof system, evident in that you managed to get out. I agree, Abigail's tirade against all pirates is not exactly an ideal situation. It is a strain on both her and the crew and it must stop."

William snorted. "And here I was thinking you worried for the pirates."

"I may life with pirates, Captain Turner, but my loyalties are still to the East India Trading Company, or perhaps more specifically, Abigail. You must simply appeal to the loyalty she feels toward her crew. She will not see any of them sent to the locker."

"What are you suggesting?"

"If tomorrow's meeting is unsuccessful, let me aboard the ship..."

oOo

"_Mildred Rochester! Must you be such an unreasonable girl?"_

_ For a moment, Abigail could see herself as a young girl, her dress torn into rags, dirt staining the periwinkle blue hems. From beneath the shady canopy of a large oak, Governess Betty glowered at her, hands planted on her hips, fire in her beady little eyes. Behind the governess' voluminous form sat Abigail's sister, Marie, who was busily trying to work on her embroidery without catching a glimpse of her embarrassing dirty sister._

_ "Come on Scabby!" the knock of wood on her shins brought her back to what was important. Her older brother, Marcus Lucius Rochester smiled viciously at her. Retrieving her own stick, she parried her brothers future blows. Thin and weedy, she was able to duck and dance around him, avoiding bodily contact with his stick. _

_ "MILDRED ABIGAIL ROCHESTER! I told you to stop NOW!" _

_ Betty's shrill voice wrenched Abigail from the haze of concentration, allowing Marcus enough time to lay a rather painful blow to her knees._

_ That evening, she had been victim to the scrutiny of her mother, the sharp featured woman glancing over every bruise, every cut as though each and every one was a disgrace to the family. "I do not know what we are going to make of you, Mildred," she sighed. "Keep behaving like a savage, and we'll never get you a husband."_

_ Abigail__'__s__jaw__tightened.__ "__I__don__'__t_want_a__husband!__"_

_ "One day you must marry, Abigail, or you will find yourself dying an old maid, childless and alone. Is that what you want?"_

_ "I want to be a captain, like father."_

_ "You are a woman, you cannot be a captain."_

_"__I_will_be.__"_

_ Abigail would never forget the look her mother shot her at this moment, a mixture between exasperation, anger and sadness. At this point in their lives, neither knew that Marcus would die, only a short time later, drowning in the pond on their land. Lucian Rochester would disappear on his ship, returning rarely, too overcome by grief to face his family, especially little Mildred Abigail, who looked so much like her brother. _

_"__Your__stubbornness__will__be__the__end__of__you,__one__day,__little__Mildred._"

Abigail had spent many years of her life trying to prove her mother wrong. All her pay was sent home in the attempt to convince the now ailing Charlotte that her daughter could live the life of a man. But of course, her mother was right. Her own unyielding stubbornness had caused this. Rather than do her research, she had thrown herself into this pointless crusade that had left herself and her crew mere shadows of their former selves. Cutler could never be freed, she could see that now. His true chains were not made of iron, like those clamped around his ankles and wrists, but rather of unseen magic. He had made an oath, and this oath would stand for a hundred years, long after Abigail had drawn her last breath.

Perhaps it would be wise to simply _let__him__go_.

A sharp rap at the door drew her mind from reflections of the past. Her voice was raspy as she uttered a simple "come". There was no point in looking up. She tired of seeing the weather worn faces of the crew, was terrified of seeing hatred etched in their features, resentment that she had dragged them out here on a fruitless campaign.

"Captain Rochester, ma'am. You have a guest."

_A__guest_? Probably Sparrow, Abigail thought dully, coming to collect his prize. Neither of them had necessarily won, but holding onto the large sack of ships seemed relatively pointless.

"Mr Sparrow," she began, "I-!"

"I daresay I am rather horrified that you would prefer the company of the pirate, rather than of my self."

His voice swept over her like deliciously hot water in a clean bath. Her dark eyes met his light, glistening with disbelief.

"Cutler?"

In the dull light of her cabin, he appeared less like a pirate and more like the lord she remembered, the man she loved. He swept toward her, gently covering her lips with his own. "I assure you, my dear, I am actually here."

"Why?" her voice was so soft now, she was surprised he could actually hear her.

"Captain Turner has asked me to convince you of the error of your ways," Cutler's eyebrow shot up his forehead, a sardonic smirk tilted his lips. "He feels I am more... equipped... to change your mind."

"William Turner evidently has the same low opinion of women that you used to hold."

"You have clearly never met Elizabeth, his wife, she is a woman almost as stubborn as you." Cutler stroked her cheek. "Just because I am part of Turner's crew, does not mean we cannot be together. I am not held by the same rules of land as he."

Her lower lip quivered. "Cutler, have I become a monster?"

"Yes, Abigail, you have. Just as I was."

His bluntness threw her a little off-balance. Cutler's tactics had always been backhanded, sometimes a little cruel, but she did not expect this now, especially when combined with the soft caress of his hand.

"You must yield Abigail, or else you and your crew will die."

"If I yield, it is as though I have led my crew out here for absolutely nothing."

His expression darkened. "Many months ago I gave you a choice. Become my mistress and save your crew from financial ruin, or let them suffer. Now I ask you to once again _think__of__your__crew_. Damn it Abigail, think of yourself."

"I-!"

Her words were snatched from her, his lips crushing hers in a vicious kiss. Thin, weatherworn fingers curled in her long, raven hair as his tongue gently probed her willing mouth. Unceremoniously she found herself slammed against a nearby wall, all defiance swept from her at the familiar ministrations of the man she loved. His slight body was pressed against her, his arousal growing clearer against her thighs.

A loud bang from outside flung them from their embrace. Abigail gasped, shooting toward the door, only to be grasped by two burly pirates. The deck was a daze of shattered wood, screaming men and clipping swords. Struggling against her captors, Abigail sent a desperate look toward the man she thought her saviour.

"Cutler, how could you?"


	15. Chapter 15: Ends and Means

****It's over a week late, but it is finally here! Sorry about the delay. The preparations for my brother's wedding (which was last Saturday) were a fraction more time consuming than I anticipated, so all writing projects came second (unfortunately).

A special thanks to my reviewers Lady Sybelle, Keggy Chaos and General Herbison. =)

Please excuse me any spelling mistakes. This time I kept making the mistake of writing "Severus" instead of "several"... talk about a one tracked mind. Also, please excuse my little divergence into the past. Earlier in the fic I hinted that something happened between Elizabeth and Cutler, and I thought I would explain that a little while at the same time exploring the connection between Cutler and Abigail.

A.N. I do not own anything. Good-o.

oOoOo

**Chapter 15: Ends and Means**

_**Several Months Earlier: Port Royal**_

The alcohol burned his throat, but did little to dull the raging guilt that raced through his veins. It had been a useful act, a necessary one and he could not deny that Elizabeth Swann proved to be a satisfying bed partner. Incarcerated until adulthood within the hub of lace and luxury that was her father's home, it was hardly surprising that the young blonde yearned for new experiences. The little foray with the pirates had been a taster, but she wanted more. To her, the barrier of her virginity was a burden, a nothing which she was more than willing to trade for the Letters of Marque.

Several hours later, he found himself consumed by the ramifications of his actions. Elizabeth was not the first virgin heiress he had deflowered, and had Abigail not appeared in his life, she would not have been the last. The chase intoxicated him, the sighing submission; the reluctant passion. Before Abigail, he would have been quite content with this frivolous existence. He was no better than his father, a flaming adulterer, unaware of the emotional turmoil he caused his meek, loving wife. True enough, Abigail could not be considered meek, but this did not ease his guilt.

Ragged in the remains of the previous night's attire, Cutler was aware he was frightful to behold. A dark shadow of stubble stained his skin, the half full tumbler of whisky clutched in his fingers thoroughly unsuitable for seven thirty in the morning.

Her entrance startled him, despite his requesting it. Dark shadows fell under her eyes, her lips pressed into an irritated little sneer. She looked splendid in the emerald green dress he had presented her with, though it was clear she resented the attire. Her stance was uncomfortable, and beneath the voluminous folds of the skirt, her military boots could be spotted.

"Lord Beckett," she curtseyed mockingly, her eyes rolling.

_She __is __an __insatiable __chit_, Cutler thought to himself. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered trying to please her. Stubbornness seemed to be her prominent character trait, at the expense of courtesy, social grace and plain old gratitude.

"Abigail, sweetest, I need to talk to you."

A thin black eyebrow was cocked. "Well, that's a change."

The lord ignored her, gesturing to a ragged yet comfortable chiffon sofa. "Sit, please."

She did so, huffing with irritation at the oversized girth of her skirt.

"Abigail, I know we have not exactly placed any _limitations_ upon the nature of our relationship." He paused awkwardly. "However, something has happened that I feel you need to be made aware of. Last night I bedded Elizabeth Swann."

His persistent periwinkle gaze brushed over her features. To the untrained eye, Abigail's face would have appeared as still as a marble statue, but Cutler could not help but notice the flash of emotion: hurt, anger, confusion.

"Why?"

Her voice was so soft that he could barely hear it.

"Sometimes the ends justify the means."

A sad smile curled her lips. "Ah yes, you are rather good at bedding women for your own ends, aren't you Cutler?"

"In your case, Abigail sweetest, you _were_ the ends."

"Why exactly did you tell me this?"

"I felt you had the right to know."

A light scoff left her lips. "I am your mistress, Cutler, you can bed as many women as you like. It is of no interest to me."

She was lying, this was clear. "I told you because I want you to trust me, Abigail. I want you to know that this will never happen again."

"Trust you? I love you Cutler, I don't know why, but I do. As for trusting you: I don't think I ever will.

_**Back to the Present: The Dutchman**_

_As __for __trusting __you: __I __don__'__t __think __I __ever __will_. The words were particularly poignant, and Cutler shuddered as he contemplated how much he deserved her mistrust. Sleeping with Turner's fiancé was only the tip of the iceberg. Abigail, the woman, who had made the last few months of his mortality the finest in his life, was the same woman he manipulated and used to his own advantage. It was no surprise she did not trust him.

His journey into the bowels of the _Dutchman_ was fraught with trepidation. On the one hand he wanted to explain his motivation, while at the same time he wished to hide from her judgement. Devoid of their noxious coating of rotting sea life, the holding cells were far less disgusting than Cutler remembered. Some were occupied by pathetic miscreants who failed to realise that their sentence aboard the _Dutchman_ could not be revoked. Cutler cared little for them, his attention solely aimed toward the rear cell.

She was curled in the shadow, her face hidden by her thick fall of obsidian waves. It was clear that she had not been crying, but she shook with fury, with betrayal. Incarceration within the _Dutchman_ left its scars, whether one was there for years or simply for a matter of hours.

"I have nothing to say to you, Cutler."

A fake smile curled his lips. "That is a change." The woman refused to react, so he continued, his tone serious. "I did what was necessary, Abigail."

"Let me guess, the ends justifies the means?"

"In this case, yes it does. Turner knew you would not yield. He was going to destroy the Pennywise and kill everyone aboard."

The woman looked up. "So kidnapping me and assaulting my crew is different, how? I will still end up dead, no doubt, and my crew will be imprisoned here."

"You and your crew will be freed if you promise to stop assaulting pirates."

Dark eyes met his. "That is what I will do, in exchange for you."

"Sometimes your stubbornness is plain stupidity, Abigail," Cutler snapped cruelly. "You've tried this route and failed. Turner will not return me."

"So you have given up? You are happy to remain a _pirate_ for the rest of your days?"

"Of course not," he replied sharply. His voice dropped, so quiet now that she had to get to her feet and lean against the bars. "There is another way, Abigail. Sparrow got me thinking about it when he mentioned the sack of ships. And when I saw the _Endeavour_ on your desk..."

Even in the gloom he could see the confusion on her face. "Sparrow already told me that I cannot bring you back with the _Endeavour_."

"That's because I am already _alive_. When Turner takes a crewman, each one must have lost their ship. This means they can never return, but like everything, there is a loophole. Once the _Endeavour_ has been restored, so will its crew. Turner cannot stop me from going back to it."

"Cutler, does this theory have _any_ base in reality?"

A smirk curled his lips. "We're talking about the undead and bottled ships. Of course it doesn't. But stranger things have happened. All I need, Abigail, is for you to _trust_me."


	16. Chapter 16: A Matter of Trust

**Many many many apologies for the lateness of this update! I won't bother with my usual excuses, you already know them all! This chapter is a bit of a shorty (back to the 750 words), but the next will be much longer. Sorry about spelling and grammatical errors. Fortunately, my writing style has always been relatively void of these nasties, but I am human and mistakes are only natural. I do not have a beta for this story, and in my haste to finish _A Woman's Wrath_, I don't have the time to look over it in too much detail.**

**Thankyou to my faithful reviewers! Your kind words of encouragement inspire me to keep going! **

**Disclaimer: Same old, same old. **

**16. A Matter of Trust**

_You are a liar, Cutler. A liar! A liar! A liar!_ Had he been in possession of a speaking bird, the short ex-lord was sure that the hollow-boned creature would be shrieking this in his ear. _A liar_. In his relatively short name, he had been in possession of many titles: Master, Mister, Sir and Lord being among them. _Liar_ was the only one to stick. It clung to him like a second skin, rendering him unable to resist the lingering temptation of the simple _lie_.

"Yer a down right liar, Cuttle-fish."

Cutler halted, searching for the embodiment of his internal thoughts. Even above the putrid cells, his senses were assaulted by the cavernous repugnance of the ship's hull. Shrouded in shadow, he could see a glint of gold teeth, a flash of dreadlocked blonde hair.

"Lyin' to yer lady friend is low, Cut, even fer you."

Cutler cocked an eyebrow. Eddie continued.

"Ye know full well yer ship is trapped ina side that bottle. Ain't no gettin' out once Blackies put yer in."

"Tell me, Eddie, how do you know so much about, er, _Blackie_."

A flash of something unreadable crossed Eddie's face. Cutler was shocked. It almost made the pirate look intelligent.

"I have my ways, mate," Eddie concluded seriously.

"As do I," Cutler replied, staunchly. "I think you will find that it is perfectly possible to free the _Endeavour_. I did not lie about that. I just failed to mention one very important thing."

ooo

From the bustling deck of the _Dutchman_, the _Pennywise_ appeared a ghostly apparition. Utterly devoid of all personnel, it creaked and groaned like an abandoned house. Abigail glanced upon it longingly, yearning to return to the jumble of wood and canvass she now considered home.

"Captain Rochester, I have brought you here to ask one important question." Turner's voice boomed through the still air. Abigail vaguely remembered the man from a short encounter at Port Royal, and even now she could not help but marvel at how authority had changed him. "Do you yield?"

_Yield_. It sounded so defeatist. Risking a glance at her crew, Abigail nodded.

Turner appeared before her, his fingers lifting her chin so that her dark eyes bore into his own. "Say it, Captain Rochester."

"I yield. Now, free my crew."

With a flick of his hands, Turner gestured for his own men to loosen the binds on the _Pennywise's _crew. Abigail's own adornment of shackles was swiftly removed.

"If you continue to kill pirates, Captain Rochester, I will personally see to it that you and your crew spend eternity in the locker. Do I make myself clear?"

Once more Abigail nodded.

ooo

The _Dutchman_, and subsequently Cutler, disappeared into the turquoise folds of the ocean, leaving behind naught but an expanse of ruffled waves. Despite their imprisonment, the crew of the _Pennywise_ immediately returned to work.

"Penny for your thoughts, Captain."

Giacomo Peterson leant against the worn railing, eyes grazing the same spot of ocean that held Abigail's attention. Of course, her first officer knew he would never extract all the thoughts from his Captain's head.

"Tell me about the crew, Jack. Do they wish to return home?"

Giacomo's beared chin shifted as he frowned. "They know that is impossible."

"They were merely following the orders of their Captain. I could tell the Company that I lied to them, told them they were sailing under company orders."

"And sentence yourself to death?" Giacomo smiled softly. "Those crewmen who chose to stay lost their family with the destruction of the _Endeavour_. Each of us is avenging their deaths, as are you. There are times when-"

"You wish to stab me in the back and go home?"

A small chuckle emulated from the man. "Indeed. However, we all accept that by now we have no home to return too." He paused for a moment, allowing Abigail to absorb his words. "What is the plan?"

"Plan? What makes you think there is a plan."

"You would never have yielded unless there was a plan."

The glimmer in the captain's dark eyes was unreadable. "I yielded because Turner threatened to kill you all."

"And... because you have a plan. I can see it in your eyes. You're holding something back, Captain, and I want to know what it is."

For the second time that day, Abigail yielded. "There might be a way to bring the _Endeavour_ back," she sighed. "Including its crew and Cutler as well."


	17. Chapter 17: Port Royal

**A much longer chapter here, well, long for this story anyway! You'll have to excuse me another divergence to the past. I do enjoy writing about Cutler and Abigail before his death. This chapter is rated "M" for coarse language, and there is a smattering of raunchiness, but not too much. I simply find it difficult to write smut at the moment, unless the man in question is tall, pale, shoulder length greasy black hair and goes by the name of Severus Snape. Poor Cutler.**

**I hope you enjoy, my faithful readers. I will have the next couple of chapters up either tonight or tomorrow. It is my mission to finish this story before NYE. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything... :'(**

**17. Port Royal**

~ Several Months Earlier ~

Their arrival in Port Royal had been heralded by a torrential downpour, rendering all foolish enough to tackle the deluge utterly drenched. Cutler's arrival by boat-drawn horse drew the gaze of all those peeking from their windows, yet Abigail had responded to the spectacle with a mere roll of her eyes. Upon the shore, he turned to her with a lilted smirk.

"Abigail, you will meet me at the manor. I will be there shortly."

His oily words had caused her to bubble with anger. "I am not your wife, Lord Beckett; I am the second most powerful person in the fleet. I will accompany _you_."

"Alas, indeed you are not my wife," he muttered, leaning over on his horse so that only she could perceive his words. "If you were, you would be back in England waiting for your husband with an open heart, and open legs."

"You are-"

"Foul? Loathsome? Horrid? My dear Abigail, your insults grow as old as the _Endeavour__'__s_supply of crackers. Be a good mistress and warm the bed for my return."

Tempting his horse into a quick canter, he disappeared up the rain strewn beach, the hooves flicking salty specks of sand into the faces of those nearby.

"Bloody arrogant son of a –"

"Captain Rochester, I suggest you follow me."

The hushed tones of Mercer chilled her to the core, the tall dark man looming over her like the figure of death.

"Oh let me guess, Lord Beckett has sent you to guard me?"

Mercer's lip twitched; his equivalent of a smirk. "Lord Beckett does not trust you, Captain. He thinks you will try to escape, as you will, I am sure."

Abigail pouted, allowing the tall man to lead her through solid walls of rain. Cutler had told her of his family's manor at Port Royal. The lavish seventeenth-century villa had once stood guard over the slave trade, but now it was merely a home of visitation. Cutler had not been there since he was a boy.

Their belongings were transported by horse drawn carts, but it appeared Mercer was under strict orders to make Abigail walk in the rain. She did not particularly care. Rain had always held a great fascination for her. As a girl, she had been caught on several occasions dancing in the waterfalls of tiny earthbound drops. Her mother had _loathed_ that.

Beckett Manor was a rather daunting sight. It was not neglected, having been occupied by Governor Weatherby Swann and his daughter for the past few years. Abigail seriously doubted that Cutler had informed the current tenants of his impending arrival. The servants were shocked to behold Mercer, and even more alarmed to have the mistress of their distant lord showing up soaked to the bone.

Within seconds, a busty Creole woman was removing the drenched coat from Abigail's shoulders. "Oh, you poor dear," she crooned. "I wonder why Lord Beckett didn't put you in the cart with his books."

Abigail smirked at this. "I fear Cutler is more partial to his books than he is to me."

The woman, who she soon found out was called Mrs Watkins, gave her a somewhat sympathetic look at this moment. In her long life, perhaps she had seen many womanizing Becketts showing up on her shore.

"I daresay, my dear, you're dressed like a sailor!" Mrs Watkins exclaimed, observing the regalia on the coat she had just removed. "Some fancy of Lord Becketts?"

Abigail responded with a kind smile. "I am a Captain, Mrs Watkins."

The elderly matron evidently had no response to this, so she shepherded the young woman up a broad staircase, sparing no second glance for Mercer. Cutler's lackey, however, followed in close pursuit, extracting a large parcel from the pile of Cutler's belonging accumulating in the entrance hall.

ooo

It was only once Mrs Watkins had forced her into a devilishly warm bath and bombarded her with scented soap that Abigail found out what the parcel contained. The dress, she had to conceive, was utterly stunning. The emerald silk fell in luxurious folds to the ground, the corseted bust sewn with hundreds of tiny jewels. At first, she wondered exactly why Cutler was carting such fine clothing around with him, but this question was soon answered by Mrs Watkins motherly exclamation.

"Oh look at you, my dear. You're as thin as a willow wand, just like Miss Elizabeth."

_Ah,__so__the__gown__was__for__the__lady__of__the__house_. This hardly surprised Abigail. Cutler had no doubt intended to seduce the daughter of his tenant, perhaps even binding him to her in marriage so that the Swann's notorious wealth could fatten his own coffers.

Mrs Watkins would not hear of it when Abigail requested clothing from Cutler's wardrobe. On order of Lord Beckett, she would wear the dress, even if it was just for a few minutes before the feisty lord tore it from her body.

ooo

The rain continued well into the afternoon, slamming against the bay window of the library. Abigail was huddled within this nook of glass and curtain, a thick tome resting on her lap. The library of Beckett manor was an impressive one. The bottom reams of shelves were packed with standard books of philosophy, classics from the Greek and Roman period mingled with medieval romances. As the shelving progressed, the topics changed to piracy and myth, clearly a subject of great interest to a previous Beckett. Abigail had even risked a glimpse of those books that adorned the top shelves of the cavernous rooms, her cheeks becoming imbued with red as she realised their content. Tomes from all over the world, crammed with illustrations of the most licentious nature. Women contorted into positions both natural and unnatural, facing men with ludicrous erections, their pencil lined faces wrought with desire. She had tried to turn from these wads of smut, but the temptation was incorrigible.

Cutler no doubt knew of this line of temptation.

It was most likely why he asked her to meet him in the library.

Curling her legs beneath the folds of the dress, Abigail flicked open the binding of the ancient text. It had a simple title, Latin, pressed in green ink with flecks of powdered gold: _Sexus_. It was not exactly subtle, and its contents were as blunt as a sword hilt to the head. Unsure as to where to look, she held it spine down on her knee, allowing the pages to fall where they wished. The image on page three-hundred and ninety-four brought another blush to her face.

"My, my Abigail. Into my father's filth already?"

How exactly Cutler had snuck into the house, dried himself and crawled into the space of the bay window without Abigail noticing was a mystery she would never solve. His presence, however, was thoroughly unnerving.

"It-!"

"Fell off the shelf?" A smirk curled his sensual lips. "I am sure of that." The lace of his cuff brushed against her palm as he extracted the book from her grasp. "Come, Abigail."

Without a second thought she followed him, watching dolefully as he climbed the ladder toward the highest shelf, placing the book back within its slot. Grabbing the shelf for support, he moved the ladder across several feet, fingers wrapping about another book, which he threw down into her arms.

The cover was worn with age, the lettering barely readable.

_The__Duties__of__a__Mistress_.

Eyebrow rising toward her hairline, Abigail opened the book, reading a couple of sentences with disdain.

**Few of the female sex can perform this act to satisfaction, their minds still locked by the confines of their prudish youth. Little do they know that the ministrations of the mouth and lips can be as intoxicating as the engulfment of a willing cunt.**

Abigail paled, causing Cutler to chuckle lightly. "Captain Abigail Rochester, willing to sail the oceans and risk the wrath of England's king, only to balk at the sight of a word."

"I am balking at the sight of this _book_," Abigail snapped furiously. "Though the word is hardly one used in civilised company."

"Ah, and you would know all about that, wouldn't you my dear?" Cutler smirked. "The man who wrote this book was hardly what you would call civilised, though he moved in the highest circles of society." His pale fingers gently fingers the parchment, bringing her back to the title page.

_The__Duties__of__a__Mistress_ by _Abraxas__Beckett._

"Your _father_ wrote this?"

"No, my grandfather. He enjoyed the company of women even more than my father." His fingers danced across mounds of her cleavage, somewhat exaggerated by the tight corset. Soft lips brushed against her shoulder blades. "He used to bring his mistresses here, away from the prying eyes of my grandmother. My father did the same."

Before further observation could be made, the book was yanked from her fingers and thrown unceremoniously on worn rug. His movements were hard and soon she found her back rammed unceremoniously against a packed bookshelves, the dusty tomes coughing a deluge of dust down upon the couple. Lips ravaged hers, his tongue invading the willing depths of her mouth as his fingers wrenched up the folds of her skirt...

~ Several months later ~

The breath hitched in Abigail's throat as her mind wandered back to the rendezvous in the library. She had been loosened by the reading material, barely able to resist his skilled fingers. He had taken her forcefully, revelling in his own lust before laying her body on a study desk, fingers parting the folds between her thighs as his tongue worked against her core. It was an action she had never experienced, and one she discovered later on was not mentioned in _The__Duties__of__a__Mistress_.

Now the library was neglected, dust caking every surface. Several books lay strewn about its cavernous depths, knocked from their homes by the damaging wind roaring through shattered windows. Everything perceived as valuable had long since been looted, but as Abigail predicted, Cutler's substantial book collection remained relatively intact.

"Captain Rochester, where do we start?"

Giacomo's awestruck voice drew her from her memories. She pointed toward one of the middle shelves. "He keeps his books on pirates here."

Her first officer blanched. The collection on pirate mythology was no mere hobby shelf, it was a substantial array of books in a number of different languages.

Finding the section on Blackbeard would not be an easy task.


	18. Chapter 18: The Legend of Blackbeard

**Same excuses, same excuses. Gah, I really am useless with my updates. I hope to have Chapter 19 up by tomorrow night, but we shall see. A bit of a filler chapter, with a hint of smut. Good times. **

**Thanks to General Herbison and Keggy Chaos for your reviews. Your support is what makes me continue Cutler's story... and is therefore much appreciated.**

**Also a special thanks to those of you who have kept reading, subscribed and favourited this story over the past... three years! Much love.**

**Well, according to my delightful plan, there are only six chapters remaining of this story. Maybe I'll complete it before NY... maybe I won't. We shall see :)**

**18. The Legend of Blackbeard**

_Pirates, my darling Abigail, are anything but original. They steal the ideas of their forefathers, twisting them until they could almost resemble something new. Take for instance, the legend of Blackbeard..._

In his short seventy years of life, Edward Teach had built himself quite the reputation. As a girl, Abigail had grown hearing his dreaded name whispered in shadows, as though uttering the syllables any louder would encourage the personification of the man to appear. To any future generations, he would be the notorious Blackbeard: murderer, traitor, pirate. According to Lord Cutler Beckett, however, the notorious Captain Blackbeard was also a fraud.

He was not the first Blackbeard to haunt the oceans. Since 1409, captains of this name had swept the seas, praying on the weak and feeding on the rich. The accumulation of crimes had made quite a tidy backdrop upon which Edward Teach could build his reputation. Unfortunately, it also created quite a dilemma for Abigail and Giacomo.

Their days within Cutler's library seemed fruitless. Dust hovered in the air like ominous clouds, clouding their senses and their respiratory systems. On more than one occasion, coughing fits had halted their work. Abigail, though, also found herself swamped in memory.

For several days, Cutler had shut himself off from the world, allowing he and Abigail to indulge in the sinful delights that the library offered. Abraxas Beckett's book was soon completed, leading way to tome after licentious tome. Like classical nymphs, they boycotted clothing, feeling little need to hinder their experimentations with confines of cotton, wool and silk. For the first time since she had met him, Cutler removed the stiff white barrier of his powdered wig, revealing unruly cocoa-hued curls.

It was during these hours in the library, filled with laughter and lascivious acts, that Abigail had begun to grow fond of her blackmailer. It seemed almost suitable than the book lined room would also be the location in which she would find the key to save him.

The search with Giacomo was excruciating. Night and day, the captain and her first officer scoured the books, ancient and modern, in the hope for a tiny clue. Their hearts would occasionally jump at the sight of _Blackbeard_ or a mention of bottled ships. Most authors chose to discard any thought of breaking the bottles. They were mere things of magical beauty, locked within the sands of time.

As each new lead led to a dead end, Abigail found herself drawn deeper into the memories, trying to wrench from the piles of smut something that could be useful... something that would give them a clue as to what they could actually do...

oOo

He was naked, reclined lazily upon the plump cushions that lined the bay window. Afternoon sun poured through rain-specked glass, causing tiny blackened dots to dance upon his ivory skin.

"What are you reading?" she murmured softly, snuggled against his warmth. The light shuffle of turning pages had drawn her from the realm of a shallow sleep. The pages smelt of dust and mould, some of the parchment gnawed by bookworms and mice. The illuminated manuscript, once colourful, was now dull and stained. Cutler did not respond, rather, he adjusted the book so she would be able to read the first few lines.

_The Importance of Blood_.

"Pirates care too much for blood," Cutler admitted, moments later, placing the book down upon the floor at their side. "More so than nobility."

"I suspect they think it has magical properties." Abigail could not help but keep the doubt out of her voice. To her, magic was a ridiculous notion thought up only by the ignorant.

"Do not be so quick to disregard magic, Abigail." Cutler's fingers gently brushed against the tender flesh of her breasts, flickering across a nipple before pinching the hardening nub. "It comes to us in the most basic of forms."

Abigail bit her lip. "This is something, Cutler, but it's not _magic_."

His response was a quick smile, barely noticeable before his lips crashed upon her own, drawing the breath from her lungs. Fingers fell from her breasts, brushing down the flattened plain of her stomach toward the mound of curls at the apex of her thighs.

"Still not magic," she whimpered against his lips, as his delicate fingers slipped within her, sliding from her entrance to the tiny puckered bundle of nerves at the top. Between them, his own arousal was evident, but his remaining hand slapped her fingers from his stiffening length.

"Cutler, please."

"Please _what_." His kiss stifled her answer, skilled fingers caressing her to the near point of climax. The book lay momentarily forgotten as the same hands that had once turned its pages turned her onto her back, spreading her legs. Periwinkle eyes met hers momentarily before falling shut as he submerged himself inch by inch into her willing depths.

oOo

_The Importance of Blood_...

"Blood!" Abigail looked up from the useless wad of pages she had been attempting to peruse, meeting Giacomo's gaze hopefully. "We need to look for blood."

"Blood, Captain?" Days in the library had brought even more stubble to her first officer's chin, a dark hue that only added to his perpetual look of exhaustion.

"Blood rituals, Jack. Pirates are obsessed with them. We just need to find something relating to the bottles and blood."

Cocking an eyebrow, Giacomo started to scour the shelves looking for something remotely relevant. Two hours into their search, Abigail's euphoria at discovering a new lead started to gradually fade. The moonlight of their sixth night started to trickle through the bay window, adding to the meagre light of the candles they had lit.

Abigail was about to order her first officer to bed when a passage caught her eye.

_In the light of the full moon, the life essence of the captor must be spilt for only with its magic can that which has been imprisoned be freed from its prison of glass._

Abigail rolled her eyes at the mention of magic. She had experienced much of it during her travels, but the word still irked her. It was used too much by pirates and those interested in the fiends. It seemed to take away from its impact.

"Jack, I think I've found it."

The lack of enthusiasm in her voice did little to stir that of her first officer, but he trudged toward her desk anyway.

"Captain, if this is the case, we've searched for nothing."

"How so?"

"They need the blood of the captor. The man who placed the _Endeavour_ within the bottle is dead."


	19. Chapter 19: Blood

**Well, it's rather short, but I almost delivered it within my own set time! (I'm 45 minutes late, hehehe). My muses have been absent lately, but I'm a stubborn wench and wrote anyway. It probably lacks all zazz, but I will rectify it with the next chapter... maybe :P**

**Thanks for your support!**

**Disclaimer: Same old, same old. I own very little. It's quite depressing really.**

**19. Blood**

"Not quite, mate."

The sauntering tones of the pirate trickled through the air, accompanied by the shrill hiss of withdrawn swords. Abigail's eyes, once wide with hope were now mere slits, her lips drawn into a scowl.

"Sparrow," she sneered, "what are you doing here?"

The handsome pirate swaggered toward the desk, his dark eyes glinting. "Let's just say, a mutual friend wants to know why you were so... willing... to surrender."

His words were hardly surprising, though they did allow Abigail a certain amount of amusement. "I would hardly consider you to be one of Turner's lackeys, Sparrow. Did the events at the Fountain of Youth cool your nerve?"

Jack Sparrow's swagger dwindled a little. "How do you know of that?"

"I make it my business to know everything that goes on in the world of piracy," Abigail replied, offhandedly, pointing the tip of her sword at the vulnerable skin of the pirate's neck. "I don't believe you answered my question."

The blade glinted, adding an air of menace to her declaration.

"Willy does not entirely trust you. He thinks you'll go to any extreme to get ol' Cuttlefish back." Sparrow danced away from the steel, his eyes still locked in hers. "When he found out you were coming to Port Royal..."

Comprehension dawned, causing a slightly reddish tinge to taint Abigail's pale complexion. "He thought I was coming after Elizabeth. To use as barter."

"Can you blame him, love?"

"The woman is pregnant, I would not even contemplate taking her as a hostage." Abigail lowered the sword, glowering. "I am not entirely heartless." Before Sparrow could respond, she continued. "So what exactly _are_ you doing here?"

"As soon as I found out you were looking up my old friend Blackbeard, I just had to come and join in," Sparrow crooned, eyes once again sparkling. "You see, I recently spent a little bit of a time with his daughter, Angelica. I'm surprised you haven't heard more about her, seeing as you make it your business to know about pirates."

"Of course I know about Angelica, what has she to do with this?"

"If you ask nicely, she might just give you a little of her blood." With this, Sparrow winked, causing a stab of irritation to run through Abigail's system. She did not enjoy being patronised by men, especially not rum-soaked pirates like Jack Sparrow.

"Angelica is only half Blackbeard," she shrugged. "The ritual only works with the blood of the _captor_."

Giacomo, who had spent this encounter rifling through the aged pages of the tome cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Captain, it doesn't specify that the blood has to come from Blackbeard himself. His daughter's blood may work."

"May?" Abigail scowled. "Do you really think I'm going to risk Cutler's life on a half-bent theory that may or may not have credence?"

Sparrow tapped her on the shoulder, initiating only more irritation. "Love, with ol' Edward dead, it seems like this is your only option."

"Even if this is accurate, how exactly do I find this _Angelica_?"

"That's where I come in," Sparrow grinned, his golden teeth glinting in the low candlelight. "I'll lead you there."

Abigail snorted. "And why would you do that? Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Let's just say I'm a bit of a romantic."

"And there's something in it for you?"

Sparrow merely shrugged, giving off a particularly strong aroma of rum as he did so. "Pirate."

oOo

Sheer resentment fell like a dense fog upon the crew of the _Pennywise_. For three weeks they followed the confused commands of Captain Jack Sparrow, a man more concerned with the contents of the rum stores than actual maritime navigating. Several times they had been forced to backtrack as the wily pirate sprinted from his rum-tinged haven shrieking. "Turn back! Turn back! We've been going in entirely the wrong direction!"

Abigail seriously considered throwing him overboard, but despite his eccentricities, it seemed Sparrow was a better guide than she gave him credit for. On the twenty-sixth night of their voyage, the groaning planks of the _Pennywise_ were scooped into a still, turquoise pool. They passed beneath a high archway in a ring of cliffs, a guardian that blocked out all light. It had once been the crater of a volcano, long since sunk into the oceans depths. Now all remained was a circlet of stone.

Another ship was moored there, smaller than the _Pennywise_, but boasting as many weapons. Abigail recognised it only from the newer volumes in Cutler's collection. The _Queen__Anne__'__s__Revenge_.

"Told you I would lead you to her," Sparrow smirked.

The _Pennywise_ slipped into place beside the older ship, her deck higher than the _Revenge_ by a good three feet. Her eyes diverted downwards, only to meet those of a surprisingly beautiful woman.

"Captain Teach."

Her greeting sounded awkward on the tongue, and caused the exotic beauty on the other ship to smirk. "Angelica will do. You must be Captain Rochester."

Angelica's accent curled around the words. Abigail shifted uncomfortably. This woman wielded power, a great deal of it. That was plain to see.

"You know of me, how?"

A dark eyebrow was cocked. "Another woman captain?" Angelica smiled slightly. "It would be impossible for news of you exploits not to meet my ears. You come for my blood, yes?"

"How did you know?"

"Many have come seeking just that since my father perished," Angelica shrugged. "Some want it by sword point, others through seduction. I wager you have one of my father's ships." Angelica gestured for her crew to fall back. "Please, come aboard, we shall discuss this further. Bring Jack."


	20. Chapter 20: An Uneasy Alliance

**20. An Uneasy Alliance**

The scent of alcohol and unwashed men was prevalent in the air, the inner decks of the _Queen__Anne__'__s__Revenge_ almost a ludicrous stereotype of a pirate ship. The small amount of light that spilt across the desk came from salt crusted lanterns, so sea-worn that they had long since melded into part of the vessel. Abigail had not been permitted to bring more than one of her crewmen aboard with her, and she chose Miles Andrews, a waif-like lad with an unnerving proficiency for sword play. No doubt, Angelica and her pirate crew would judge him as a weakling, which is exactly what Abigail desired. Jack Sparrow was hardly decent company, his swaying mannerisms and shameless flirting with their host threatening to drive Abigail mildly insane.

"Rum?"

Angelica had steered them into a darkened room flanked by stained windows and lined with various scrolls and maps. Upon a scarred desk was a huge carafe of rum, from which the female captain was now pouring.

"No thank you," Abigail replied, eyes still boring into the pirate captain's face.

"Straight to business then," once again Angelica smiled. "What ship do you wish to free?"

With a tilt of the hand, Abigail gestured for Andrews to retrieve the _Endeavour_, which was perched inside one of his voluminous pockets. The momentum caused the waves within the glass to tumble somewhat, giving the tiny ship the impression of being in a storm. Abigail could almost hear the shrill yells of those crewmen unfortunate enough to be entrapped within the magic.

Angelica reached for the ship, but Abigail resisted, pushing Andrews back a little.

"Worry not. I have no intention of destroying my father's handiwork – _yet_." After a little coaxing, the tiny ship was placed into Angelica's waiting palms. "_The__Endeavour_. Such a pretty ship, so much like the one you captain."

"She is her sister ship."

Angelica cocked an eyebrow. "I know. There are many who will fight to see this ship kept within its prison, or destroyed. Are you sure you wish to do this?"

"I did not come all of this way to give up."

The pirate captain gave her an unreadable look, before handing back the tiny ship. "There is only one way to free the _Endeavour_. You must return to the place where she was sunk, once there you will be able to open the cork with a drop of blood. Drop another within the bottle and throw it into the ocean."

"That is all?"

"You sound surprised."

Abigail smiled bitterly. "Nothing in your world is particularly straight forward. There must be a catch."

"You already have the _Dutchman_ after you, not to mention every other renegade pirate ship this side of the Caribbean. I do not think you need an additional catch."

oOo

Giacomo Peterson found his captain several hours later clutching two objects. One was the ship in a bottle. Peterson himself found the ship mesmerising. On a still sea, he was sure his eyes caught the tiny movements of crewmembers traversing the deck. This was ridiculous. Surely such a thing was impossible? Abigail's other hand, however, was wrapped around a small phial of blood. The captain's face was a marble carving, devoid of all emotion, yet Giacomo perceived something within the glittering depths of her eyes.

"You do not trust this _Angelica_."

"She is a pirate, Giac. I do not trust her as far as I can throw her. I don't understand why a pirate would be so keen to help me get Cutler back. She did not even ask for payment."

"Perhaps she is romantic?" Giacomo suggested, a half-baked smile on his lips. "Or perhaps she is working for someone else?"

"That's what I thought – but the question is who?"

oOo

His father had always told him that no man was immune to corruption. It would eventually seep into his life and take over, causing trouble wherever its slippery tentacles ventured. This had always amused Cutler, for his father was the most corrupt man there was. Yet, as adulthood changed his youthful figure and mind, Cutler found himself falling under the sirens call of corruption. His exchange with Elizabeth had shown that. He was well aware of its symptoms... he saw signs of them every day, not only in the viewing glass, but also in the face of William Turner.

As captain of the _Dutchman_, Turner would soon start to show the manifestation of his own corruption. His tanned skin was already clammy, building the perfect environment for the tentacles that would no doubt start springing from his annoyingly well-chiselled jaw.

Since granting Abigail temporary freedom, Turner had been less than amiable toward Cutler – not that he had shown much respect for him before then. Every word was laced with mistrust, and the more time he spent in the company of the _Dutchman__'__s_captain, the less Cutler trusted _him_. Turner was planning something, that much was obvious, and it was also rather clear that no matter how many years Cutler served the corruptible hero, he would never become privy to that information.

Days of seemingly aimless sailing morphed into weeks. With Abigail no longer slaughtering pirates by the dozen, there seemed little work for the _Dutchman_. Turner, however, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. It was on the nineteenth day of their sailing that they arrived at the sunken volcano.

Cutler had read about the place in his books, a suitable hide out for any pirate. The high cliffs of the caldera were said to be cursed, and while pirates were the most superstitious of all sea farers, it appeared that they did not mind the place. Deep within the bosom of this ring of stone was a ship of a darkened hue, golden light spilling from its crusty windows onto the still, green waters...

oOo

"She came to you then?"

Angelica frowned. She had heard much about the new captain of the _Dutchman_. William Turner, blacksmith turned pirate was meant to be one of the bravest and kindest men to sail the seas. The dark haired man she found before her, however, seemed as cruel as the ship he captained.

"If you are talking about Captain Rochester..."

Turner sneered. "Obviously."

_It__is__clear__he__mistrusts__all__female__captains_, Angelica mused, her eyes darkening. "She came to me inquiring about one of my father's hobbies."

"I told her to leave these waters."

"And what did you expect her to do?" Angelica inquired, her voice laced with dislike. "Captain Rochester is as welcome in England as she is here."

"That is not my problem. Tell me where she is."

"You are aboard my ship, Captain Turner, I believe it is I who should be laying down terms."

Turner's sneer intensified. "You do realise who I am, woman?"

"Davy Jones' heir," Angelica shrugged. "Just as I am Edward Teach's heir. That still does not give you to right to order me about on my own ship. Abigail Rochester did indeed come aboard this ship, but I have no idea where she is to head next."

"And what did she tell you?"

"All I know is that she wishes to get a ship back. I know nothing else."

"You lie."

Now that was just a little too much. Angelica fought back the urge to throw her full tanker of rum at the arrogant swine's face. "I do not. If you want to know where Captain Rochester is, perhaps you should ask one of your crew. I believe he would know more than I."

"Beckett?"

Angelica nodded, though did not deem in necessary to be forthcoming with additional information. She did not like this Turner, and though he was ultimately a dangerous man, his mannerisms made her somewhat careless in his company.

"Thankyou Captain Teach, for you time."

The sadistic smile tapered onto his final word rendered Angelica speechless. She watched him leave, strangely concerned for the welfare of the female captain whose life he so clearly coveted.

oOo

"BECKETT!" Turner's roar drew Cutler from his musing, his eyes diverting from the glistening turquoise waters to the tall, clammy-skinned man before him. Turner's fingers curled in the cuff of his shirt, lifting him a few inches from the ground.

"Is there any reason your trying to strangle me, Captain?"

At the humour in Cutler's voice, Turner hissed. "Tell me what you told your mistress."

"I told Abigail nothing."

"Lie."

"I assure you, I tell the truth."

"Your word is worth less than what a pig could spit, Beckett. _Tell__the__truth_."

"Ah yes, and your word is worth its weight in gold. Tell me, William, why are you so determined to keep me here? Surely it would be easier to give me back to Abigail, we could disappear, never worry you again."

"I keep you here, Beckett, because you deserve it." Turner let him go. "And your slut deserves death."

"Anything else?"

"Nothing that concerns you." As to whether William's interrogation would turn to blows, Cutler never found out. A horribly familiar face had appeared on the deck.

"Best let the dwarf go, Willy-boy. I've got your answers."

_Dwarf?_Cutler found himself fuming at the insult. He would have preferred to have been beaten to a pulp by an enraged will Turner than deal with Sparrow's slight.

"Jack, what brings you here?"

"Just snuck in from Angy's ship, mate. Been keeping an eye on Cuttlefish's girlfriend. Seems she's heading for the spot where the _Endeavour_went down."

"Why would she do that?"

Jack smiled, causing Cutler's blood to bubble a little more. "Let's just say she has a little plan to bring _him_-" he pointed at Cutler "-back to the land of the living."

**A/N: Well it might seem like I'm just giving everything away with this chapter, but I have a few more tricks up my sleeve. There are only two more chapters left of AWW. Chapter 21 is currently being written, and then there'll be a short Epilogue. Thanks for reading, and thanks General Herbison for your reviews on the last two chapters :) I'm glad you are still enjoying my story! **

**Also, serious apologies for my constant lying about when I will update. I set myself deadlines with the best of intentions, but RL always has a way of taking over. Besides, it's Christmas, so I have an excuse =P**


	21. Chapter 21: Revenge

**Same old same old... sorry about any spelling errors (there were a number of grammatical ones in the last chapter that made me cringe upon re-reading). I have no beta for this story, so any niggling mistakes are my own. Apologies!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from POTC, I do however own Abigail, her ship, her crew, a pirate named Eddie and a fat man named Freddie. I wish I owned Cutler, but alas, life is full of disappointments.**

**21. Revenge**

It looked like any other patch of water. A few waves ruffled the otherwise smooth surface, lapping casually against the hull of the _Pennywise_. Abigail could have almost relaxed in the languid heat of the afternoon sun, if it had not been for her underlying sense of paranoia. She did not trust Angelica, but nor did she think the pirate captain would hand over her position to William Turner. Turner had morphed from lovable blacksmith to ruthless unlikeable captain within a matter of months, and it was likely that Angelica would be just as deterred by him as Abigail was.

What concerned her was the finality of what she was to do.

Once the bottle was opened and dropped into the soft waves, what then? Would expand and shatter, allowing the reborn _Endeavour_ to join her sister ship after so many months of imprisonment? Or would it merely sink to the bottom, never to return, never to tempt Cutler back to its polished decks?

Such contemplations were useless. To pirates, blood was almost as valuable as gold, so for Angelica to hand over a warm vial of her own life-source, well that gave some credence to her suggestion.

"Captain," Peterson interjected, his beard shaved, his ragged uniform cleaned and pressed. "It is almost time."

The tenseness in the air was palpable, and Abigail's hands felt like lead weights as she extracted the shimmering bottle from a sack at her belt. The water within the glass reflected that around them. It was as if the _Endeavour_anticipated its freedom as much as the assembled crew of the _Pennywise_.

"No pain, no gain," Abigail stammered under her breath, handing the bottle to Peterson who cradled it lovingly. The vial of Angelica's blood was extracted from Abigail's pocket, its contents still eerily warm. With a muffled pop, the cork rose, it's brown hue stained with red. Dropping it to the deck, Abigail gestured for the return of the ship.

With shaking precision, she dropped the first drop on the wax coated closure of the _Endeavour__'__s_ prison. The wax hissed and melted, an ancient wooden cork sliding from the glass as though coated with whale oil. A second drop was delivered to the still waters within the glass, the artificial sea turning a delicate shade of pink.

Her heart hammered in her chest, an irregular tattoo that drove her near insane with panic. The rails of the _Pennywise_, though only a few feet from her position seemed to be miles away. Slowly, steadily she made her way to the expanse of ocean, trying not to rock the treasure clasped within her hands. Arms extended, her fingers loosened, reading to drop the vessel into the sea...

_CRACK!_

The shout of gunshot barely registered as the boat fell further toward its watery birth place. Abigail allowed herself a small smile, before all sensation returned. There was blood on her chest.

_CRACK!_

The second imbedded below her collar bone. Shouts erupted from the deck of the _Pennywise_, men unsheathing swords and pistols alike. A tiny long boat rocked on the surface, its mottled surface making it recognisable as one from the _Dutchman_. Seated within was a tall pirate with dreadlocks spun from gold.

_His__hair__is__so__beautiful_, Abigail pondered, her eyes glazing, the blood falling thicker from her wounds. More gunshots ensued, the man with the golden hair soon falling in a mass of blood, hair and bone. A rumbling emerged from the water below. Was it the _Endeavour_ regrowing? _What__was__it_?

Abigail fell to the deck. The sky above shone the same periwinkle blue as Cutler's eyes, the sun twinkling mischievously.

He would live... Cutler would live.

oOo

The _Dutchman_ emerged from the ocean's depths, just as the Endeavour was bloating. It was truly a remarkable sight. One minute it was as tiny as a bath toy, then the size of a long boat. Within a matter of seconds it stood proudly beside the _Pennywise_, his departed crew regaining consciousness as though emerging from a good night's sleep.

_Abigail__won!_ Glee enveloped him. If it had not been for the leg irons wrapped about his ankles, he would have danced for joy.

"Cappen! Cappen! Edd's bin kill'd!" A fat pirate named Freddie jumped toward Turner, rumbling the decks as he went.

_Killed?__How__could__Eddie__be__killed?_ Cutler thought on this for a moment, but the thought turned his stomach. The only way a member of Turner's crew could be killed was through irreversible mutilation.

Turner's stony expression did not alter. "So be it."

"Why was Eddie even here?" Cutler hated the fact he felt remorse for the pirate, but Eddie's death took him a little by surprise.

"He was doing his duty," Turner replied, his voice flat.

"His duty?" _He__must__have__failed,_ Cutler pondered. _The__Endeavour__is__back.__I__am__free!_ As though to signify this freedom, the leg-irons around his ankles turned to sea-weed, slipping away. Without thinking, the short lord sprinted across the _Dutchman__'__s_deck, grabbing a rigging rope and swinging onto the deck of the _Endeavour_.

"Lord Beckett, was goin' on?" a Lieutenant inquired groggily.

"Later," Cutler snapped, swinging now onto the deck of the _Pennywise_. The crew was going wild, swinging the cannons toward the _Dutchman_, firing shots at Turner's crew. A large group were huddled about a fallen figure on the deck.

"No... oh God no."

Cutler could not see it, but who else could it be? Why else would Turner be so pleased with what appeared to be a failure?

"Move aside!" he roared to the assembled crew. A few were shocked by his presence, but they split none the less. A sob threatened at Cutler's throat as his eyes grazed the still figure of Abigail Rochester. In dead, she looked far more at ease than ever she had in life. Her eyes were open, dark brown orbs staring straight into the blue sky. Apart from the bloody gunshot wounds she looked perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Huddling against her body, Cutler allowed the tears to flow, dampening her obsidian curls. "Abigail, my love. I am so sorry."

oOo

"It is done. Finally, it is done."

Turner's lips curled into a smile. Those that were there on this day would always swear that this was the occasion where Turner gained his first tentacle. Within a matter of decades he would sport a beard of them as eerily magnificent as that worn by Davy Jones. Pirates and navy alike would fear to speak his name, and his crew would once again revert to sea-life clad monstrosities.

He would allow Beckett a time to mourn, a generosity that the little lordie had not given to him. Then, he would wait. He knew Beckett would come for him eventually.

He was not disappointed.

The fury etching every line of Beckett's face was palpable. His lips were quivering; the glint in his icy blue eyes enough to drive all mortal men into a panic.

"Why?"

One word, one syllable, yet in the grief stricken voice of Lord Cutler Beckett it meant so much. The inflection of his voice brought Turner great joy.

"You must have expected this, Beckett."

"WHY?"

"I could not simply let the wench continue to kill pirates."

"You have not answered my question. You could have imprisoned her, like you did me. You did not have to have her killed."

"There you are wrong. I did not care about your freedom or your ship, I just wanted you to feel what I did."

Beckett's face contorted with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Revenge, Beckett. You stole Elizabeth, so I stole Abigail."

"What?"

"She is pregnant, Beckett, but as Davy Jones' heir I am incapable of fathering a child." William found his insides churning with hatred. "I asked her who he was, and she told me about what you did to her at Port Royal."

"So what, the bastard is mine. That does not mean I stole Elizabeth from you," sneered Beckett, his fingers clutched now around the handle of his miniature pistol.

"But you did. You were her _first_. You are the father of her child. How can I possibly compete with _that_?"

"So you're telling me that Abigail died because you were feeling a little jealous! If you were not already dead, Turner, I would kill you again! Only this time, I would make you beg for death!"

"Do. Not. Trivialise. This. Beckett." Turner's words emerged in a venomous stream, eyes narrowed. "Our business is done, you may return to your ship. I never want to see your face again."


	22. Epilogue

**Epilogue: Nineteen Years Later**

"Father! FATHER!"

The words danced upon the vicious sea breeze, whipping around him like a warm, welcome blanket. Lord Cutler Beckett looked up from the weather damaged gravestone, a smile splitting his age worn face at the sight of his beloved son. Marcus James Beckett was a handsome figure to behold, his height clearly inherited from his mother while his dark mop of hair came from his father. The naval blues of his uniform fit his slim figure well, though their usually pristine state was stained from his climb.

"You cannot show up at your wedding like that, son."

Marcus traversed the final few metres, his eyes falling upon the name inscribed upon the stone. "I will change." Slowly, he lowered a hand to help his father to his feet. "What was she like?" A slight gesture of Marcus' head was all Cutler needed to know his son was talking of _her_.

"Abigail?" Cutler chuckled. "She was not unlike your fiancé."

"Stubborn, self-assured and a downright pain in the-"

"Precisely." Cutler stumbled away from the stone. "But I loved her with every iota of my being, just as you love Lilianne. Well, we best be getting back to the manor. Your mother will be getting flustered."

Marcus smirked. The idea of Elizabeth Turner-Beckett getting flustered amused him greatly. The woman was stiller than the calmest sea, more structurally sound than stone. He had never quite understood how she and his father had ended up together, especially since both seemed so devoted to people that they had lost.

"What would she have thought of me?" Marcus asked, two hours later as he made his way toward the chapel, resplendent in his finest uniform.

Cutler cocked a greying eyebrow. "Abigail would have been furious at your existence. But then, she would have grown to like you, just as Giacomo does."

"Do you think that she would mind you being with mother?"

"I think Abigail would have wanted me to be happy. You make me happy, Marcus, and I hope one day Lilianne will give you a son to make _you_ happy."

Lord Cutler Beckett watched his son marry that evening, with a peculiar combination of melancholy and joy in his heart. The nineteen years since Abigail's death had been difficult. He had a loveless marriage to the woman he had unintentionally impregnated, several times he had run ins with William Turner, whose spitefulness was reflected in his repulsive reflection. His shining light was Marcus... but now he was to go. He and Lilianne would move into the manor, Cutler and Elizabeth would make their final journey back to England.

Or at least that was the plan.

Several hours before their ship would depart, Lord Cutler Beckett departed the world in his sleep, his final living moments entranced within a dream of a woman with chocolate brown hair and obsidian curls as wild as the ocean upon which she sailed.

The End.

* * *

Authors Note

After several years, it is done! I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, added this as a favourite or subscribed to the story, or just read it. I know I have not exactly been the greatest when it comes to updating, but I promised that I would have this done by NYE, and a Lannister always pays his debts. Clearly, I am reading a touch too much George R.R. Martin at the moment (and watching too much Game of Thrones).

Cutler's story has been a difficult one for me to tell. I fell for the character back in 2007, and started writing this in the summer of 2007-8. I was only nineteen and still pretty innocent (hence the thoroughly ridiculous sex scene in chapter six). No doubt I knew exactly where I was going when I started publishing, but by the time I picked up the pen again at the beginning of 2011, I really had no idea whatsoever. I have changed much and thankfully attracted a new group of readers (thanks my faithful reviewers!) who all hold onto the hope that Cutler (and James Norrington, of course) will return in future POTC movies.

Thankyou! Thankyou! Thankyou!

xx Louise Brandon


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